


I'm an Empathetic Drunk, Ok?

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Artist Ronan, Blow Jobs, Cats, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Family Issues, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, Lawyer Adam, M/M, Noah is alive, Non magic AU, Panic Attacks, Previous Self Harm, Reference to Drug Use, Ronan centric, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Slurs, Texting, Therapy, Trauma, Uni AU, Verbal threats, aged up AU, dubcon, references to self harm, talking it out, unidentified number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 149,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: Ronan probably needs to get his shit together.The gangsey's all at University (well mostly all), and are fitting together into a different sort of puzzle this time round.





	1. Chapter 1

The main thing Ronan takes away from reading through his text messages from the previous night is that 8 drink Ronan is an emotional mess with no impulse control. The next big thing he takes away from it is that he’s either; A. Lonely as fuck, B. Dumb as fuck, C. Drunk as fuck, or, D. All of the fucking above you fucking idiot what the hell were you doing.  
He’s going with D. Or, at least, he wishes he was. God.  
This is the first thing he does that morning. Lies in the mess of his bedsheets, reads his text messages, and berates himself for the dumb ass he is. 

The second thing he does is to poke Gansey’s leg, the only part of him in easy reach.  
Gansey is sprawled out in the usually laundry laden chair by Ronan’s bed. Gansey does not look comfortable, and all the laundry is on the floor now except for Ronan’s jacket which Gansey appears to have requisitioned as a blanket and then given up on half way through draping it over his shoulders.  
He has no memory of Gansey being involved in any of last night’s activities, so how he’s come to be sleeping and drooling in Ronan’s chair, Ronan has no idea. 

“Gans,” he rasps, “dick face.”  
Gansey stirs, thrashes slightly at the jacket which is providing more of a restraint than a blanket, and then opens his eyes to glare blearily at Ronan.  
“You look like absolute shit,” he tells Ronan.  
Ronan feels like absolute shit. “Feel like your dead ass boyfriend took a shit in my mouth and then cursed it,” he mumbles, way too hungover to actually manage anything like humour.  
“Yeah, well,” Gansey huffs, finally frees himself from the jacket and levers himself with only slight creaking out of the chair, “you deserve it.”  
“Harsh,” Ronan says, equal parts intrigued and despairing over what he’d done to invoke Gansey’s wrath already. “Alright,” he says, “get it over with, what did I do?”  
“What did you do?” Gansey snaps, clicks his back with gusto, “Maybe I’ll compile you a list so you can read it in your own time with whoever the hell you like.”  
He still has no clue what he did, but he feels like he’s beginning to vaguely understand what Gansey’s anger is stemming from.  
“Maybe you should,” he snaps back before he can stop himself from snapping, “but I know you prefer to give your fucking lectures personally, so you may as well get it over with.”  
God.  
Gansey continues to glare at him, balefully. Then he turns on heel and stalks over to Ronan’s door.  
“I’m making coffee,” he says stiffly, “if you feel like being a halfway decent human, you can come and have some and we can talk about last night. Otherwise you can stay in here and marinate in your alcoholic juices.”  
He slams the door when he leaves, sending all the nerves in Ronan’s head into full alert.  
“God,” he mutters, mostly to himself, partially to God. Then he rolls painfully out of bed, fumbles though his desk drawers for painkillers, swallows them dry, regrets swallowing them dry, gulps down as much water as he can to try and ease the burn the pills left down his throat. Then he pulls his jeans on, discovers his jeans have no button, realises he must have worn these jeans last night and misplaced the button, leaves the room anyway. 

Both Gansey and the coffee are steaming. Only one of them looks very inviting.  
“Sorry,” Ronan mumbles as he slides onto a stool at the counter, props his elbows up on it and drops his head into his hands, “I’m ready for the reverse confessional booth now.”  
“I’m not laughing at your jokes until I’m less mad with you,” Gansey informs him, puts a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him, “you said - no - you promised you weren’t going to hang out with him anymore.”  
If Gansey didn’t already look both entirely pissed off and exhausted, Ronan would have asked who ‘he’ was, just to be irritating. There was only one ‘he’ in this scenario, and they both knew it.  
“I didn’t mean to,” Ronan says, “honestly, Gans, he bumped into me at the club, I was already kinda tipsy and I wasn’t thinking-”  
“That’s not an excuse,” Gansey snaps, “hell, I thought you were going out with your brothers for dinner last night, not club surfing or whatever.”  
“I did,” Ronan protests, “I did, we went to that fucking Italian place down the road from the sushi place you always drag me to, and then Declan was a fucking asshole, and Matthew didn’t want us to fight, so I left. I didn’t wanna come home angry so I went to club.”  
“Yeah and came home completely sloshed and angry. Definitely an improvement.”  
“Ok, ok,” Ronan sighs, lowers his hands and his face down to the coffee cup to tip coffee into his mouth. He doesn’t trust his hands to lift the cup very far off the counter currently. “Obviously I fucked up, can you cut to chase and just tell me what I did already?” 

He can hear Gansey pouring his own cup of coffee, vigorously stirring that fucking weird cinnamon thing he linkes into it, and taking a large gulp before he speak.  
“You called me around about 1 this morning, do you remember that?”  
“No.”  
“You never call me, Ronan, and it was 1 am. 1. In the morning. I almost had a heart attack. Then I answer and you’re slurring incoherently at me about needing a ride but you’re not sure where you are because fucking Kavinsky dropped you off on a street corner. You were on the other side of the city, and then, you refused to stay on the phone with me while I came to get you. You wouldn’t answer your phone, you wouldn’t text me back. You know that’s a rough part of town-”  
“Gans,” Ronan mumbles into his coffee, “it’s not a rough-”  
“I’m not going to fact drop about the crime rates there, Lynch, just know that I can and I’m right. The point is, you called me up, very obviously upset and disorientated, and then made me freak out about you the entire 45 minutes it took to drive to you.”  
“It only takes half an hour, tops to get to-” Ronan begins, and Gansey cuts in again.  
“For you, yes. For people like me who try to stay on the good side of the police? No.”  
“Fine,” Ronan sighs, “what awful thing did I do next?”  
“Please limit your sarcasm until I’ve at least finished my coffee,” Gansey snipes at him, “you didn’t want to get in the Pig. We spent another 10 minutes on the street while you insisted that you were going to drive the BMW home before I finally persuaded you to get in, and then as soon as you did get in, you immediately fucking threw up.”  
“Huh,” Ronan says, “that’s why my jeans stink.”  
“That’s why your jeans stink,” Gansey says dryly, takes another long gulp of coffee, “and you refused to speak English on the way home. You spoke Irish and fucking Latin all the way home, and got increasingly more and more upset that I didn’t understand what you were saying.”  
“Well,” Ronan says, “in my defence-”  
“No,” Gansey says, “I had to hold you up in the shower to wash your own puke off you at 3 this morning, you have no defence.”  
“That’s fair.”  
“After which,” Gansey carries on, “you still wouldn’t speak to me in English, but also wouldn’t let me leave you alone, and also wouldn’t let me sleep in your bed. I think my neck is permanently crooked now.”  
“Ah.”  
“This, in a nutshell, is why I am pissed off at you,” Gansey says with a flourish, then he puts down his coffee. “What the hell happened last night?” he asks, “You don’t do this anymore.”  
“Apparently I do,” Ronan says, “nothing happened last night.”  
“Oh sure,” Gansey scoffs, “you tell me that Kavinsky was there and that nothing happened. One of those two has to be a lie.”  
“Fine,” Ronan says, drains his coffee, “Kavinsky wasn’t there.”  
“Ronan. Can you please just talk to me about this?”  
“Fine” Ronan snaps again, pushes his empty mug away from him, “ok. Declan was pushing me about going back to uni, I said I’d rather shove a cactus up my ass, he told me that sounded right up my alley, I told him I misspoke and I’d rather shove a cactus up his ass and he told me I could apologise or leave so I left. I didn’t want to come home because you would be judgy, so I made a bad decision and went to the bar and had a shot and then a whole bunch of my old classmates came in and asked me to drink with them so I did, and then they went to a club and I just ended up going with them and Kavinsky was there.”  
“Right,” Gansey says, rubs his hand down his face, “and you just went to him, like you always do.”  
Ronan wants to disagree with this, but there’s really not much disagreeing he can truthfully do, and he doesn’t want to lie. He can feel his face heating up with embarrassment. He nods.  
“And then what?”  
“And then I drank more, ok, Dick? I don’t know what happened next. I know I got in the car with him, and then I wanted to go home and he didn’t want to take me home so I opened the car door and got out.”  
“That explains the gravel you had in your palms,” Gansey says, “what were you thinking, getting out of a moving car? God.”  
“Oh I don’t know,” Ronan snaps back, “something about how I needed to get out of there and didn’t care how.”  
Gansey looks like he has a lot more to say. He doesn’t say it. He moves forward to take Ronan’s cup, refills it, and hands it back.  
“You’re ok, though?” he asks, “He didn’t hurt you?”  
“Fuck, Gans,” Ronan groans, wraps his hands around the cup again, “I’m fine.”  
“Did he?” Gansey presses, refills his own cup.  
“God,” Ronan says, “no. I don’t know. Leave it alone, Gansey. I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry I fucking ruined your night or morning or whatever, and I’m sorry I have no self control, and I’m fucking sorry I broke my shitty promises.”  
Gansey doesn’t look at him.  
“You know I’m mad about this because I was worried, Ronan. I just want you to be ok.”  
“You sound like Declan. Neither of you are my parents.”  
“Would you listen to us if we were?”  
“Fuck off,” Ronan says with more venom then he intends, then sighs, “who fucking knows. Look, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”  
Gansey snorts, “Sure,” he says grumpily, “do you have a time turner so we can make it so last night never happened?”  
“Sadly, no,” Ronan says, “I do have a phone full of actually hilariously pathetic texts I sent to a stranger though.”  
“Excuse me?” Gansey asks, lowers his coffee cup, “Please explain.”  
“Apparently,” Ronan says, as cheerfully as he can through his pounding headache and his nauseous guilt ridden stomach, “while I was waiting for you, I saw a lost cat poster and got really worried about the well being of the cat. So I texted the owner.”  
“No,” Gansey says.  
“Yes,” Ronan sighs, “listen, this is a one time offer, I’m going to delete these texts so if you want to read about me being stupid in a non-destructive way you have to get in quick.”  
“Of course I’m reading them,” Gansey says firmly, “where’s your phone? I need it immediately. I am in need of amusement.” 

-

(~Unknown number)  
Monday  
1:11 (am)  
-hii’m tex7ing abbout yr cat janeaustn i dnt hvae her ijuts wantto konw if shesok

1:12  
~Jane Austen is fine, thank you. She was brought back a few days ago.

1:12  
-thnakfuck shes tooo nbeautiful toeb allone outhere

1:13  
~I agree. She’s not made of very stern stuff. Do I know you?

1:13  
-fuckinhoope notcos otherewise imd be very pissded you neverer intrtroducd me to jne

1:15  
~It sounds like you’re already pretty pissed, to be honest. 

1:15  
-htis is cybrebullyign

1:16  
~Is it, though?

1:16  
-ifyourr cajane’s alreday been fou n d why h a ve you stiul got posdters up

1:19  
~I suppose I missed a few. So sue me. 

1:19  
-ok.whatsyourname an d ad dress i ‘ ll getmy lawyres on it inthe morning

1:22  
~Nice try, random drunk stranger, I know better than to give my name out. 

1:22  
-whta are yuo? 12????

1:25  
~God, are you 12? 

1:25  
-nofuck youim 222

1:26  
~Pardon me, good sir, well I never. Such an honour to meet such an aged individual. 

1:26  
-nowu you ‘ve gott o tell me yoiur’e not 12.

1:28  
~I’m not 12. I could be lying though. You have no way of telling. 

1:28  
-dnt disprespect yuor elderfs

1:35  
-okfine disresprect me

1:37  
-heyare yousleep?

1:38  
-ify ou’r’e a sleep tctx me a z

1:40  
~ Z

1:40  
-hahahsashs  
-fuckfer

1:41  
~If I was 12, you’re being very inappropriate. 

1:41  
-if I was obssober i wuold crae  
-noi woudlfnt  
-idontlie i’ms soryr fro lyieng  
-dnot eb nagry

1:44  
~Do you wanna take down my lost poster for me? If you’re still nearby?

1:44  
-fuckinstan ding rihgt necst to itfuckker  
-ills enfd yuo a pic true of it nto thre anyrmore.  
-(image attached)

1:46  
~Thank you for the picture of the blank pole. 

1:46  
-uyour fuckinwelcome tlle jne austan i lovev hre

1:47  
~I will.  
~are you ok?  
~Just, why are you texting a lost cat number instead of your friends?  
~Why are you still on the same street corner as you were half an hour ago?

1:48  
-bcecaiuse ihm a fucskian emmotial drnk nda i love amnials an i lifve reakly faar away ut myy dick is comin

1:49  
~Your dick is coming. Please tell me I am misunderstanding this. 

1:49  
-fukc thasts great imgonnsa tlle dikc. Hesmyf riend drivin top ick me up.

1:50.  
~ok. I don’t really care, but text me when you get home safe, ok?

1:50  
-pfffffffff tedcxxt a12 yr olfd sure.

1:52  
~I just don’t want to stay awake all night worrying about some drunk asshole I don’t even know.

1:55  
~I don’t want to have to tell Ms Austen that the person I just told her loved her is dead in a ditch somewhere. 

2:09  
~I’m hoping you’re with your friend now. 

2:30  
~Ok I seriously can’t sleep. Tell me you’ve not been mugged.  
~I’m looking up news updates to see if there’s anything about idiot drunks who love cats being found in ditches. 

2:52  
~Seriously, when you wake up or whatever, just send me a fucking z so I know you’re alive and I can delete your texts and move on with my life. 

 

-

 

For the most part, Gansey finds this completely hilarious.  
“I’m a little sad I don’t get these type of drunk texts from you,” he says, wiping a goddamned literal tear from the corner of his eye, “they’re beautiful.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, a little more cheerful now the painkillers and the coffee have kicked in, and he’s kicked his way out of his vomit smelling jeans. 

“Poor girl though,” Gansey says, scrolls back up through the messages, and then down again to the latest ones, “you probably ruined her night or whatever.”

“The fuck?” Ronan snorts, “He’s not a girl.” 

“And you know that, how?” Gansey replies, raising his eyebrows, “She has a cat called Jane Austen. She’s a girl. Hopefully not a 12 year old girl.” 

“What kind of 12 year old is up at 2 am?” Ronan asks and Gansey’s eyebrows lift higher.

“Please,” he says, “you can’t have forgotten our rebellious, parent defying all nighters.” 

“We never made it to 2,” Ronan rolls his eyes, “you were always asleep by midnight.” 

“God,” Gansey sighs, “those were the days, alright. I miss sleeping.” 

“Ok, hand my phone back now.” 

“Wait,” Gansey says, not handing the phone back now, “you have to text her back.” 

“What?” Ronan scoffs, “The hell I do.”

“Ronan,” Gansey says, cajoling, “she’s obviously worried. You ruined her night, it’s the least you can do to make it up to her.” 

“Yay the idiot texting you last night is still alive,” Ronan says blandly, “Dick, this isn’t like one of those sappy movies you like where this ends in romance. I’m not texting back.”

“I never said it was!” Gansey says hotly, ears pink, “Besides, of course it wouldn’t be, she’s a girl.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan says, snatches his phone back, “I’m having a shower.” 

He stalks out of the room, not before Gansey can all after him though; “I am pleased you called me last night instead of dying in a ditch. Don’t do it again.” 

 

-

He really does mean to delete the texts. And the number. And all the memories of last night. Throwing up only detoxed his stomach, not his head. The longer he stands under the shower stream the sicker he feels. He’s such a fucking idiot. No self control. No self preservation. It was truly a wonder Gansey had put up with him for so long. 

 

-

Monday  
3:32 (pm)  
-I’m alive. 

He doesn’t really expect a reply right away, he’s not sure if he even expects a reply at all, that doesn’t stop him from staring at his phone for a full 5 minutes like an idiot while he drips onto his bed. 

 

6:47  
~ It’s a miracle. 

6:48  
-You can tell Ms Austen I survived, and so did my love for her. 

6:52  
~She’s ecstatic. Dancing in the hallways. She wants to know if she should set a date for the wedding. 

6:52  
-I was thinking the 4th of July.

7:02  
~She says that’s overly patriotic for her tastes. 

7:03  
-She might be right. 

7:09  
~Hungover much?

7:10  
-Please.  
-So fucking much.  
-I almost would have prefered to be dead in a ditch. 

7:12  
~Jane A is pleased you’re not. 

7:20  
-You’re really not 12, right?

7:21  
~I’m 21. 

7:21  
-God you’re young.

7:27  
~Hey, fuck you, you’re only 22. 

 

-

“Who are you texting?” Gansey asks. He doesn’t knock. He never knocks. Probably because he knows from over a decade of experience that Ronan doesn’t usually bother replying to knocks, but still. 

“None of your fucking business,” Ronan snaps, locks his phone screen, and throws it across the room. Probably an overreaction. 

“Ah,” Gansey says, “cat lady? You don’t want to be caught being a nice human being and letting her know you’re alive?” 

“You wish,” Ronan says, fumbles around his bedsheets in search of his earphones, “what do you want?” 

“I’m going out with Jane, tonight, do you want to come? We’re grabbing dinner and then going to see whatever movie is playing when we get to the cinemas. That way we don’t have to argue over which one we want to see.” 

“That sounds awful,” Ronan says sincerely, “no I don’t want to fucking third wheel your date, God, Gans, why would you even ask that?” 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “no, you wouldn’t be third wheeling, she’s bringing her new flat mate with her, apparently he’s in some of the same lectures as I am and she thought we’d hit it off. She suggested you come too.” 

“It still sounds awful,” Ronan snorts, “not only would I have to sit through Dick and Jane go on a date, then movie lucky dip, I’d have to pretend to be interested in your political science wankery? No thank you.” 

“No one’s asking you to pretend anything,” Gansey tries, “I just thought it’d be nice, you know, to get out of the house.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, finally finds his earphones, “and stop moping around the house, make some more friends, stop wasting my life, yeah I heard it all from Declan yesterday, I get it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Gansey sighs, but Ronan’s already plugging the earphones into his ipod. 

“I don’t want to come, Gans. I’m fine. Honestly. Go on your threesome, have fun, I have a whole lot of moping while listening to music to catch up on.” 

“Fine,” Gansey says, “I’ll be home late, ok? Eat dinner.” 

“You’re not my mum!” Ronan calls after Gansey’s retreating back, turns his volume up louder so he doesn’t have to hear if there’s a reply or not. 

 

-

Monday  
10:42  
~it’s my turn to drunk text you now

10:50  
-I’m impressed at your drunk text spelling abilities. 

10:57  
~Not all of us ar sloppy drunks, y’know

10:58  
-I resent the implication.

11:00  
~Oh I’m sorry  
~it wasnt meant to be an implication let me rephrase  
~youre a sloppy drunk. 

11:01  
-and you’ve reverted back to cyber bullying. Unimpressed. 

11:02  
~How else would you descrie your textin strangers at 1AM about their no longer lost cats, then?

11:02  
-Empathetic. I’m an empathetic drunk. 

11:05  
~I hate being drunk

11:06  
-So why are you? 

11:09  
~tryin to make friends. Everyone else is drinking and i wanted to fit in.

11:10  
-Oh. Submission to peer pressure.  
-Fight the system, man.  
-or lady, I guess.

11:11  
~man.

11:12  
-Don’t try and make friends by drinking, trust me, it doesn’t work. 

11:13  
~isn’t that what you didd last night?

11:14  
-Are you now trying to imply that we’re friends?  
-that seems a little fairytale, doesn’t it?

11:18  
~I dunno what kind of fairytales you read that have texting in, but it sounds good to me. 

11:18  
-If you really want to make friends you should stop texting me, who you don’t even know, and pay attention to the people you’re actually with.  
-Idiot.

11:30  
-But I am kind of bored, so like, if you don’t want to socialise I wouldn’t actually be against you texting me more. 

-

Gansey gets home just a little past midnight. He doesn’t do the kind thing and just go to bed, instead, and without knocking, he comes into Ronan’s room and flops without ceremony down onto his bed. 

“I could have been sleeping, Dick,” Ronan growls, snapping his earphones off, “the hell.” 

“But you weren’t,” Gansey says cheerfully, “we missed you tonight.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, “you were far too busy having fun being a posh nerd.” 

“I think you’d like Jane’s flat mate, he’s lovely. Very smart.” 

“Oh yes,” Ronan drawls dryly, “great. I really don’t care. Full offense meant.” 

“Come out with us next time,” Gansey tries, “we’re getting lunch in a couple of days, Jane wants to take me to her aunt’s cafe.” 

“Gans,” Ronan says, shuffles a little so he can kick at Gansey through his blankets “you know how I feel about going out with you in public. I can’t risk being seen with you and ruin my image.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Gansey says cheerfully, “you’re every inch as embarrassing in public as I am. Come to lunch with us.” 

“No,” Ronan says, kicks at Gansey again, “I want to sleep. Go away.” 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Gansey asks, not going away. 

“Not going to lunch with you and Maggot then either.” 

“Are you going to leave the house at all? Are you going to do anything?” His voice is verging on earnest. 

“God, I hate it when you parent me, dick, get off.”

“You haven’t drawn anything for weeks,” Gansey continues, “I’m just wondering if it’ll help if you get some inspiration, go out a little, not just to bars. It could be good.” 

“If I wanted a pep talk I would call Matthew,” Ronan grumbles, “leave it alone.” 

“Come on, Ronan,” Gansey sighs, “please?” 

“I might draw a bit tomorrow,” Ronan grunts, tugging at the blankets, “but it’s not going to happen if I don’t get any sleep.” 

“Ok,” Gansey says, hops up quickly, “will I see you before I leave for class tomorrow?” 

“Un-fucking-likely,” Ronan says truthfully, “bring thai back home for dinner.” 

“Your wish is my command, your highness,” Gansey intones, sweeping his way out of the room with an exaggerated bow.

-

Tuesday  
8:12 (am)  
~I don’t want to socialise now, are you still available for texting?

8:34  
-it’s ass o clock in the fuckin morning no one wants to fuckin socialise including me

8:36  
~Believe it or not, a large portion of the world is currently awake and socialising. 

8:40  
-they’re all giving into peer pressure too

8:41  
~But not you, I take it? Fighting the system by sleeping in?

8:41  
-You know it.  
-but I’m awake now, and it’s your fault.  
-I resent it.

8:42  
~you’re welcome.  
~Surely you have something you need to wake up for anyway, I’m really doing you a favour. 

8:43  
-Nah I have nothing to wake up for

8:46  
~Well that was a bit depressing. 

8:47  
-I’m so sorry the stranger on your phone isn’t all sunshine and flowers. 

8:50  
~Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.

8:55  
-Someone took an extra helping of irritating at breakfast. 

8:59  
~Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. 

9:00  
-God you sound like dick.

9:03  
~Your friend, I assume, not an anthropomorphic talking penis. 

9:05  
-Why not both

9:08  
~Because then I would seriously question your sanity. 

9:11  
-I’m seriously questioning yours for continuing to text me. 

9:12  
~And vice-versa.

9:14  
-he’s my roommate. 

9:16  
~Oh, are you a student?

9:16  
-No. I was. We don’t live in university housing. Fuck that. 

9:17  
~Graduated?

9:20  
-Ha. 

9:22  
~Ok then. Can I ask what you were studying?

9:22  
-You can.

9:22  
~What were you studying.

9:23  
-None of your goddamn business. 

9:24  
~I feel like maybe I should have seen that coming. 

9:24  
-Yeah maybe. Dumb ass. 

9:25  
~Now who’s cyberbullying?

9:26  
-This is my way of being friendly. Get with or get out. 

9:28  
~Probably wisest to get out, honestly.  
~but I’ve already used all my wisdom up in class. Fucker. 

9:30  
-Ok, you can stay. 

9:32  
~ I can’t. I have to run to my next class and if the lecturer catches me texting she’ll cut my hands off. 

9:33  
-We can’t have that! Who would stroke Jane Austen????

9:34  
~I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten about her. 

9:36  
-Never. We’re in love. 

-

He texts Gansey after lunch. Or rather, after lunch time. 

(_Dickx3)  
1:33 (pm)  
-I’m drawing a picture of you. Hanging it on your door. 

1:33  
_Ronan! I’m flattered!

1:34  
-Anything for you baby xxxx

Now that he’s actually told Gansey he’s doing it, and now he has an actually dick move to make, he kind of feels like he has to follow through. He considers going all out and getting his paints out, but he cannot be fucked. Permanent marker it is, and Gansey can consider himself lucky Ronan’s not drawing it straight on the door.  
He draws it on the lid of a pizza box, rips it off the box, and pins it to Gansey’s door. Then he stands in front of the fridge for a while, waiting to see if anything in there tempted him. Seeing as it was mostly Gansey’s girlfriend’s yogurt and left over and almost certainly expired fast food, nothing really did. He goes back to his room, puts his earphone on, lies down on his bed, shuts his eyes. 

He smells the thai food before Gansey comes into his room, but that’s all the warning he gets.  
“It’s very funny,” Gansey says in lieu of a greeting, “a dick pic. A pun. A play on words. Hilarious. Groundbreaking. I’m impressed.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says, lets Gansey pull out one of his earphones, keeps his eyes shut, “you like your portrait then?” 

“You made my balls too hairy,” Gansey says blandly, perches on the bed and shoves at Ronan’s legs until he pulls them out of the way, “I like that you’re drawing though. Food?” 

“Did you get prawn rolls?” 

“Ronan, of course I got prawn rolls. When do I ever not?” 

“Remember that time at highschool-”

“That was once. Once. I always buy you your prawn rolls. Sit up and eat.” 

 

-

Tuesday  
10:29 (pm)  
-Literature?

10:36  
~Are you asking for book recommendations?

10:37  
-Are you studying Literature

10:37  
~Why would you think that?

10:38  
-You have a cat called Jane Austen. You text like a nerd. 

10:40  
~No I am not studying lit. Guess again. 

10:41  
-Education.

10:41  
~Nope.

10:42  
-politics.

10:42  
~Fuck no.

10:43  
-Hey careful, dick’s in pol

10:44  
~Poor Dick.

10:45  
-Dick had it coming tbh. Politics suck.  
-History?

10:46  
~No. I do have a kind of politicsy paper though. Just saying.

10:47  
-God, going to the dark side.

10:48  
~I’m a traitor of the worst kind. 

10:50  
-Arts?

10:52  
~Ok maybe not a traitor of the worst kind. 

10:52  
-That’s a no for the arts?

10:53  
~That’s a no.

10:55  
-fuck just tell me and I’ll tell you what I did. 

10:57  
~Nah.

10:59  
-I know you want to know. 

11:02  
~Apparently not as badly as you want to know what I do. 

11:05  
-Fucker.  
-You’re not that interesting you know.  
-You’re just words on a screen.

11:09  
~yet you’re still texting me.

11:12  
-Obviously I’m bored out of my fucking mind.  
-Anyway. You’re texting me back.

11:14  
~Maybe you’re an experiment.

11:15  
-Science? Psychology? Philosophy? 

11:20  
~No, no, no. 

11:20  
-Ancient Greece, Egyptology, Japanese studies, Folklore?

11:20  
~No, no, no, no. 

11:22  
-Fucker.

11:40  
~That’s me. 

-

He’s not entirely sure how this happened, how his judgement lapsed so fully, but he’s got his shoes on and is walking down the street with Gansey to go to lunch with his hippy girlfriend.  
“You’re going to love this place,” Gansey is telling him effusively, “their thick shakes are amazing, and apparently they do really good pecan pie. Almost certainly not as good as your mum’s, but no one could ever come close-” 

“Dick,” Ronan grinds out, “I thought you haven’t been to this cafe yet either?”

“Oh,” Gansey says, “I haven’t, but Jane’s told me a lot about it. Did I tell you she’s got her new roommate a job there? Apparently her aunt took a liking to him immediately and offered him a job on the spot. I didn’t really see him as the cafe waiter type but-” 

“Dick,” Ronan says again, “God. Why the fuck am I coming with you? This is already too much conversation and it’s just you.” 

“You’re coming for the fresh air,” Gansey says, takes him firmly by the arm as if he means to propel Ronan the rest of the way if necessary, “and for the company. And the thick shakes and pecan pie. You’ll enjoy yourself.” 

“Doubtful,” Ronan mumbles. 

“Jane misses picking on you,” Gansey says, “it’ll be fun.” 

-

Jane meets them outside the cafe, which looks just as eccentric as Jane does, and reaches up on her thickly soled boots tiptoes to hug Gansey.  
“You got the vampire out of the cave!” She says in greeting, and turns to grin widely at Ronan. 

“Oh,” Ronan intones, “someone tell the Shire they’ve misplaced one of their hobbits.” 

“Ah,” Jane smiles, “bless. You get funnier every time I see you.” 

“And you get shorter.” 

“More creative too, never boring. Come in,” she adds, grabbing Gansey’s hand, “I want you to meet Persephone.” 

“Will this be as terrifying as meeting your mother?” Gansey asks cautiously, allowing himself to be led. Ronan follows grudgingly behind. 

“Oh,” Jane laughs, “nothing is as terrifying as meeting my mother. Persephone is lovely. She can be terrifying, but she’s usually not.”

Persephone does turn out to be lovely, she’s tall and wispy, and oddly nondescript in every other way. She kisses Jane on the cheek, leaves a smudge of lavender lipstick there, then kisses Gansey on the cheek, somehow leaving a smudge of coral lipstick, and then, before Ronan can duck away, kisses Ronan on the cheek as well. He doesn’t know what colour she leaves on him. 

“It’s good to finally meet you,” she says softly to Gansey, “Jane thinks about you a lot.” 

Jane makes a noise of complaint, but Persephone ignores it in favour for turning her smile back to Ronan, “and good to finally meet you too,” she says, “you’re like a puzzle piece.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “and you’re like a hairier Yoda.” 

“Lynch!” Jane hisses, Gansey elbows him. 

“I think I would laugh,” Persephone tells him, “if I got the reference, but I know you don’t like lying, so I won’t make my laughter a lie.” 

“So,” Jane says loudly, claps her hands together, “thick shakes? Fries? Pie?” 

“Pecan pie?” Gansey asks. Ronan opens his mouth to disagree, but Persephone gets in before him. 

“It’s not good enough yet,” she says calmly, “cherry pie for now.” 

They get cherry pie, and chocolate shakes, and too many fries, and Jane sits almost on top of Gansey’s knee and kicks Ronan under the table. It’s kind of nice. 

“Is Parrish working today?” Gansey asks after their shakes arrive. Ronan begins shredding paper straws. 

“No,” Jane shakes her head, snaffles a straw from Ronan’s hands before he can shred them all, “he has class.”

“Parrish’s Jane’s new roommate,” Gansey tells Ronan. 

“Didn’t ask,” Ronan replies. 

“He’s the one I told you got a job here the other day,” Gansey tells Ronan.

“Don’t care,” Ronan replies. 

“We have a couple of classes together as well, that political science 101 paper I’m doing to make up some credits, and history with Mr Grey.”

“Really don’t care,” Ronan says, throws his shredded paper in Gansey’s direction. 

“He gets on really well with Noah,” Jane tells him, picks a piece of paper out of Gansey’s drink before it can deteriorate into it. 

“Vaguely care,” Ronan mumbles. He liked Noah. Noah was quiet without making the room suffocating, and loud without making the room overbearing, and he didn’t care that Ronan dropped out of uni.

“You’d probably get on with him too,” Jane continues, “if he could get past how much of an asshole you are.” 

“Well then,” Ronan snorts, “that’s not going to happen then.” 

“I dunno,” Jane says, “I did, you could have a little hope.” 

“I don’t want hope,” Ronan says, perks up as he watches their fries approach the table, “just fries.” 

 

-

Wednesday  
4:28 (pm)  
-Horticulture?

5:05  
~No. I’ve got a great green thumb though. Maybe I missed my calling. 

5:07  
-I almost did horticulture.  
-Well no, I almost did agriculture. 

5:39  
~Why almost?

5:40  
-shit happens. 

5:42  
~You could still do agri now? 

5:45  
-Yeah. I could also become the next fucking pope. 

5:47  
~You might be old enough by the time the current pope dies or whatever. Doubtful, but it could happen. 

5:50  
-pretty sure they don’t take bad catholics. 

5:52  
~Are you Catholic?

5:53  
-Is that a bad thing?

5:54  
~Well no. I just legitimately can’t tell if you’re kidding or not. 

5:59  
-I used to go to mass every sunday. Haven’t been for about a year though. 

6:01  
~Shit happens?

6:06  
-Shit happens. 

6:25  
~I’ve never been to mass or anything, but I used to rent an apartment above a Catholic church in my hometown. They were really great to me. 

6:26  
-Is this a shit happens thing? 

6:55  
~This is a shit happens thing. 

6:55  
-Religion?

7:12  
~What?

7:13  
-Do you study religion.

7:40  
~No. 

7:41  
-I give up.

8:32  
~so soon?

8:36  
-well It’s not like I get anything out of it.

8:52  
~Is the gratification of being right not enough for you?

8:53  
-No. 

8:59  
~I’ll send you a pic of our lady Austen.

9:00  
-Engineering? IT? Software development? Biology? Nursing?

9:10  
~No, no, no, no, no. 

9:13  
-Anthropology? Criminology? Sociology? Law? Geography?

9:17  
~No, no, no, yes, no. 

9:18  
-Maths? Classics? Cosmetology?  
-Wait a fucking second  
-Law  
-You’re studying law?

9:20  
~Is that a problem?

9:21  
-no. Where’s my lady love. 

9:30  
~(image attached)

9:32  
-God I can’t wait to marry her. 

9:33  
~You’re so strange. 

9:33  
-Fuck off. 

9:35  
~Fucking off

9:42  
-Fine Arts. 

9:42  
~What?

9:50  
-I did fine arts. Painting and illustration. 

9:51  
~Can I see?

9:55  
-(image attached)

10:00  
~This is. A dick.  
~A very artistically rendered dick. 

10:01  
-It’s a portrait of my roommate. 

10:04  
~So, you and your roommate don’t get on?

10:05  
-He’s been my best friend since middle school. 

10:06  
~So he’s not actually a dick then?

10:07  
-His literal name is Dick. 

10:09  
~Wow. To be saddled with that name and you? Hard life. 

10:10  
-Cyber bully. 

10:15  
~Hey, you’re the one sending me pictures of penises. 

10:20  
-Sorry. 

10:20  
~No it’s fine. It’s not liked you sent me an actual dick pic. 

10:24  
-I mean. I could. If you’re into it.

10:25  
~Please don’t.  
~Hey, I just realised I’ve been assuming you’re a guy this whole time? 

10:26  
-Ok. 

10:30  
~Obviously I’m asking for clarification.

10:31  
-Yeah, I’m a guy. 

10:32  
~Ok. 

-

It’s too fucking early for Gansey to be poking him in the side and opening his curtains and talking so fucking cheerfully. This does not deter Gansey from doing any of those things though, of course.  
“Fuck off,” Ronan says as clearly as he can manage while face down in his pillow. 

“My early class was canceled today,” Gansey replies, flops himself down beside Ronan’s head, “let’s go get waffles from the diner down the road.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan repeats. 

“Come on,” Gansey says, shuffles so he can lie down next to Ronan for easier poking access, “I’m hungry and we have no food and I don’t want to go alone.” 

“Call Maggot,” Ronan grunts, elbows Gansey in the hopes of stopping the poking. The poking does not stop. 

“I want to go with you,” Gansey says, “get up, you can go back to bed after breakfast if you want.” 

“You suck,” Ronan tells him, “now fuck off.” 

“Please?” Gansey tries, “please? I promise not to talk about any of my classes. I’ll buy your waffles.”

Ronan groans loudly into his pillow, sits up so he can chuck it at Gansey, and swings his legs out of bed.  
“Ok,” he says, “but I’m getting the most fucking expensive waffles there, and I’m not going to talk to anyone.” 

“Except me, right?” Gansey asks, hops up off the bed as well. 

“I’m not going to talk to anyone,” Ronan repeats darkly, drags his jeans on. 

This works for a while. Gansey is good at talking without replies, he’s used to it after so long with Ronan, and he can carry the conversation for ages. He stops, seemingly inexplicably, though, half way through their waffles. Eyes narrowed, face darkening. 

“What?” Ronan asks through a mouthful of waffle, icecream, and strawberry. 

Gansey shakes his head, his eyes locked on whatever he’s staring at out the window. Oh. Ronan knows this expression. He doesn’t need to turn around to see what’s there. Who’s there. 

“Is he coming in?” Ronan asks, puts his fork down. 

“He better not,” Gansey says stiffly. 

“It’s fine, Gans,” Ronan tries, “he’s not going to start anything here.” 

“Our definitions of starting something differ wildly, Ronan,” Gansey says, “I don’t want him talking to you.” 

“God,” Ronan huffs, shoves his plate away, “fuck, Gans. I’m not a fucking child.” 

“He’s coming in,” Gansey says, “let’s go. I’m done.” 

“God,” Ronan moans, but stands up and lets Gansey pull him out of the booth. 

“Oh, leaving so soon princess?” Kavinsky asks. He’s standing right in the middle of the doorway, his trademark glasses and sneer on, “Is your daddy taking you away?” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan sighs. 

“Shut your mouth,” Gansey hisses to Kavinsky, “and get out of the doorway.” 

“He’s mad,” Kavinsky grins, “is he gonna take that out on you, darling? You like that though, don’t you.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan reiterates, pulls his arm from Gansey’s grip, and tries to push past Kavinsky to get outside. Kavinsky grabs his arm instead, hauls him in close. 

“You’re so fuckin’ whiny lately,” he says, “always avoiding me. I don’t like how short your leash is with your daddy.” 

“Fuck off.” It’s harder to pull his arm from Kavinsky’s grip than it is from Gansey’s. Not because Kavinsky’s stronger than Gansey by any means, he’s just more tenacious in getting what he wants. “No one leashes me,” he adds once he’s pulled himself free and elbowed his way outside. 

Gansey follows him. They both ignore whatever else Kavinsky calls after them. 

“You good?” Gansey asks once they’re a block away and the jeering has faded out. 

“Yes,” Ronan snaps, “God.” 

“He doesn’-” Gansey begins. 

“Fuck, dick,” Ronan snaps, “I don’t want to talk about it, ok? We both know he’s a bastard. We don’t need to discuss it everytime. It’s fucking whatever. No one cares.” 

“Ok,” Gansey says, shrugs, “fine.”

“Fine,” Ronan repeats, “I want coffee.” 

“You just had coffee.” 

“I want another fucking coffee that doesn’t take like literal shit,” Ronan clarified, “you’re making coffee when we get home.” 

He knows Gansey’s rolling his eyes, even if he’s not looking at him.  
“Ok,” Gansey says, “anything for you. I have class in half an hour though.” 

-

Thursday  
10:02 (am)  
-send me a cat pic. 

10:10  
~Pushy.  
~(image attached)

10:11  
-Heavenly. 

10:12  
~Tough morning?

10:13  
-Can’t I just be in the mood for pussy?  
-God. Ok no. I’m never saying that again.  
-I’m so sorry. God. Fuck.  
-I’m not in the mood for pussy.  
-Ever. 

10:14  
~ I was going to reply with, ‘hard’ morning then? But now that seems wrong. 

10:15  
-And yet you got to say it anyway. 

10:16  
~What can I say. I find a way.  
~do you need more cat pics?

10:17  
-Fuck yes.

10:20  
~(image attached)  
~(image attached)  
~(image attached)  
~(image attached)

10:22  
-If I had actually found Jane Austen, instead of just drunk texting you about it, I wouldn’t have given her back. 

10:23  
~Rude.

10:24  
-Who are you to deny true love?

10:26  
~...

10:27  
-That’s what I thought. 

10:30  
~in my phone, I’ve labeled you as Mr. Jane Austen

10:31  
-Oh sweet  
-You’re asshole #5

10:32  
~Oh. Sweet. 

10:32  
-It’s a compliment.  
-It’s not like I know your real name.

10:33  
~Pretty sure I told you when we first ‘met’ that I wasn’t just going to tell you my name.

10:35  
-Am I going to have to guess again?

10:37  
~I mean, sure, go ahead. 

10:40  
-Aaron, Benjamin, Charlie, Dennis, Ethan, Fred, George, Harry, Ian, Jeff, Kevin, Lee, Max, Nigel, Orion, Percival, Quentin, Robert, Simon, Tove, Umberto, Viggo, Wayne, Xavier, Zachary.

10:41  
~No to all. 

10:41  
-Give me a hint. 

10:43  
~My name doesn’t start with Z.

10:44  
-Fucker.  
-Alex, Billy, Connor, David, Elton, Fabian, Han, Inigo, Jordan, Kyle, Lance, Matthew, Nick, Othello, Peter, Quinn, Ryan, Sam, Tom, Ulysses, Vince, West, Xander. 

10:50  
~I’m impressed with your creativity, but no to all.  
~My name doesn’t start with X either. 

10:51  
-I’m not doing this anymore.  
-What’re you doing.  
-entertain me. 

10:59  
~I’m in class.

11:00  
-Ooh rebel texting in class. 

11:01  
~It’s just polsci101 it’s not that important. 

11:03  
-You’re in polsci right now?

11:05  
~I just said that?

11:06  
-Dick is too. I could call him. It’d liven up your class a bit.

11:08  
~Why would it liven up the class?

11:10  
-Because I set the ringtone for phone calls from me. He doesn’t know how to change it because he’s an old fucking man. It’d be great.

11:11  
~Please don’t. Whoever this Dick is, I don’t think he deserves public humiliation. 

11:13  
-Ok fine. I guess he did buy me waffles this morning. Lester.

11:14  
~Lester?

11:14  
-Westley.

11:15  
~No. 

11:15  
-Arthur.

11:16  
~No. Gwaine?

11:17  
-Ha. No. Mitchell?

11:18  
~Nah. Conrad?

11:19  
-No. Louis?

 

-

 

He draws another picture for Gansey’s door. Permanent marker on styrofoam container. It’s an angry looking maggot. He sticks a post it note with a wonky heart in between the two door hangings. 

12:05  
-Dick. Drew you another pic. 

12:06  
_I look forward to it. 

12:20  
-I’m going out. Don’t fucking panic when I’m not home when you get back.

12:20  
_Where are you going?

12:25  
-fuck off. 

He’s gonna go see Matthew. They hadn’t arranged to meet up, and Matthew would probably be busy with one of his hundreds of bouncy friends, but he was going to go see him anyway. He needed someone unapologetically happy and unburdened with worries. He needed this, because he was going to go somewhere unapologetically unhappy and overburdened with worries straight afterwards, and he hoped Matthew would come with him.  
There’s no reply at Matthew’s flat straight away, so he leans on the doorbell until the harsh buzzing on the other side is met with the heavy thumping of feet approaching.  
It’s a bedraggled looking guy, one of Matthew’s flatmates, looks like he studies something unerringly boring because he doesn’t have the braincells for excitement. 

“Oi, Matty,” he yells over his shoulder rather than greeting Ronan, “your brother’s here. The fucking angry one.” 

Ronan rolls his eyes. 

Matthew cascades down the stairs. 

“Ro!” He calls joyfully, barrels his way past his flat mate, and straight into Ronan’s chest to pull him into a bear hug. 

“Christ, Matthew,” Ronan chokes out, “you’re gonna fucking break my spine.” 

“Pshh,” Matthew replies, releasing him, “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

“Neither,” Ronan shrugs, “you busy?” 

“Nah,” Matthew grins, “just woke up. We had a wicked party last night, Ro, you should’ve seen it, actually, no, you would have hated the music.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Ronan agrees easily, “listen, you wanna go visit mum with me? And then grab lunch.” 

“Oh!” Matthew’s grin grows, “Yeah that’d be good, I haven’t seen her in a bit, I’ve been meaning to go. Let me go put some pants on.” 

Matthew, unlike Declan and Ronan, is actually good at talking to their mother. He can sit there, in that damnably blank room, for hours chatting to her about his life and his friends, and what he’s been learning, and who he’s been dating. It’s useful, because Ronan can get out maybe two sentences before he has to shut up or cry, and he prefers to shut up. Declan usually just sticks with a simple - hello mother, it’s good to see you - and - goodbye mother, it was good to see you. 

Their mother of course, says nothing the entire time. Sometimes she moves her gaze a little, and it feels like she’s responding to something being said, but it’s not enough to make Ronan feel ok about going alone. He needs Matthew there. 

“Hi mum!” Matthew says brightly as soon as they enter the room. They’d picked up a bunch of flowers on their way in, Matthew had insisted, and Ronan had agreed. “We brought you flowers! Your favourites, they’re not as good as the ones from your garden, but they’re really nice and they smell so good. I’m gonna put them here by your bed in that vase we brought you last year. They look really good here! They go really well with the colour scheme of the room, don’t you think Ronan?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan mumbles, “it makes the room look brighter.” 

“Your hair’s looking really nice today,” Matthew continues, sitting down comfortably on the chair facing their mother’s, “did the nurses change the shampoo or something? It’s so pretty. I’m thinking about growing my hair out a bit more so it looks more like yours, really luscious. Kind of like a norse god maybe. Ronan’s hair is still all shaved off though.” 

“It’s easier to look after this way,” Ronan protests, “I don’t have nurses to wash my hair like you do, mum.” 

“I wish someone would wash my hair,” Matthew says mournfully, “I miss you washing my hair, mum. I know you haven’t for years, but I still remember how nice it was. Maybe I should go to the hairdressers more often so they’ll wash my hair for me. But they’re never quite as gentle as you were.” 

They stay as long as Ronan can bear it. Which isn’t very long. Half an hour and he’s itching everywhere. The backs of his knees, the roof of his mouth, his fingers, his elbows, his back. He needs to get out or he needs to throw up. 

“You good?” Matthew asks him cheerily as they leave, slips his arm round Ronan’s shoulders in such a casually comforting movement Ronan can’t be bothered pretending he doesn’t need it. 

“Yeah,” he says, not quite a lie, “just needed fresh air. You know I hate hospitals.” 

“Yeah,” Matthew says, “she was doing really well today, though! She was looking right at me!” 

Ronan can’t bear this either. 

“Lunch?” he rasps, “I know a place close here that does really nice thick shakes.” 

“Fuck yeah!” 

“Don’t fucking swear.” 

-

He takes him to Jane’s aunt’s place. Poldma Pies and Peace. The shakes there really were good, and he really fucking wants that pecan pie right now, even if it’s nowhere near as good as their mother’s. He knows Matthew will like it, because Matthew likes any facsimile of their life before everything was fucked, no matter how shitty it is.  
If he had been hoping that Persephone wouldn’t notice him coming in, all of these were dashed the moment they stepped inside.  
“Ronan!” She says happily, standing right by the doorway, “Oh good, the pie just came out of the oven. Have that booth over there, under the painting of the lilies.”

“Uh,” Ronan says, “ok.” 

“Wow,” Matthew says, “you know her? She looks so cool.” 

“She’s Gansey’s girlfriend’s aunt,” Ronan sighs, “so I guess I vaguely know her. Teneous connection.” 

“Cool,” Matthew repeats, “so we’re getting pie?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “apparently. Pie and shakes?” 

“Sounds like a healthy and balanced lunch to me,” Matthew grins, “fantastic.”  
Their pie is brought by a tall freckled waiter. He has a tray with two plates of pie balanced on one hand, and another with two shakes on it in the other. They hadn’t actually ordered their shakes yet, but Ronan decides to roll with it even as Matthew looks confused. 

“Two pecan pies,” the waiter says, voice heavy with a twanging accent, “and two choc thick shakes. Order of fries coming.” 

“We haven’t actually ordered anything,” Matthew informs him seriously, “but that is exactly what we would have ordered.” 

“Oh,” the waiter frowns, “Persephone said it was definitely for y’all, under the lilies painting.” 

“It is for us,” Ronan says, “I know Persephone.” 

“Oh,” the waiter says again, the frown clearing from his face, “well ok.” He places the drink tray on the table, removes their drinks, then hands down their pie plates and takes back the tray. “Can I get y’all anything else while I’m here?” 

“No,” Ronan says. 

“Thank you,” Matthew smiles. 

“You’re welcome,” the waiter smiles back, whisks away. 

“Hey,” Matthew says, his face attempting sly, “he was cute.” 

“No.” Ronan says. Matthew’s face drops. 

“What?” he says, “He is! Isn’t he? Or is like, good looks different for gay people?”

“Matthew,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, “I know you aren’t being offensive here, but if you said that to any other gay person, I doubt they’d appreciate it.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Matthew frowns, “I wasn’t thinking. “

“They’re not though,” Ronan says, “well. I mean, sure there are different aesthetics and shit, but I mean it’s the same for anyone, regardless of who they like fucking.”

“So,” Matthew tries, “was he cute or not?” 

“God,” Ronan says, “yeah, sure, he was cute.” 

“So why no?” 

“Because I don’t need you sitting there trying to cook up terrible ideas to hook me up with him.” 

“I wouldn’t!” Matthew protests. Ronan fixes him with a look. “I wasn’t going to,” Matthew tries. Ronan raises his eyebrows. “He just seemed really nice,” Matthew says, “you could do with someone really nice. And really cute.”

“Matty,” Ronan says firmly, “don’t try and set me up with anyone. Especially not waiters.” 

“You have a problem with waiters?” The waiter is back with their fries and a sardonic expression on his, quite frankly, extremely attractive face. 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, does not jump in surprise, does not. “No, God.”

“He just doesn’t trust my judgement in setting him up,” Matthew informs the waiter sadly, “it’s nothing against you.” 

If this was anyone but Matthew, Ronan would be hauling his ass outside. Because it’s Matthew, he settles for kicking him lightly on the ankle. 

“Um,” the waiter says, “well, glad to hear it. Here’re your fries. Enjoy your meal.” 

The thickshakes are just as good as Ronan remembered. The fries too. The pecan pie. The pecan pie defies expectations. It doesn’t quite live up to his mother’s, but it’s so fucking close. So fucking close he can almost taste the real thing. He’s pretty sure Matthew’s crying a little. Persephone comes to their table before they leave, smiles at Matthew, and cocks her eyebrow at Ronan. 

“Was I close?” she asks. 

“It needs more…” Ronan isn’t sure how to describe. Isn’t sure exactly what Persephone is asking of him, or why. “More oomph,” he decides on, “something a little more spicy maybe.” 

“Got it,” Persephone nods, “thanks for coming in.” 

“Thanks ma’am,” Matthew smiles, “we’ll be back!” 

“You had better,” Persephone says seriously, “what’s the point of being a puzzle piece if you’re alone?” 

 

-

He drops Matthew back home. Then he sits in his BMW for a few minutes, debating whether or not he ought to just go home to Gansey. He doesn’t want to. Not yet. Anyway, Gansey kept trying to push him out of the house, so he may as well stay out a bit longer. He drives aimlessly for an hour, weaving in and out of traffic, blasting his music too loudly. Not thinking. He stops at a small lake, more of a duck pond really. He doesn’t want to go home. 

Thursday  
3:47 (pm)  
-cat pics?

3:49  
~Sorry I’ve sent you all the ones I have on my phone and I’m not home right now. 

3:50  
-What kind of cat owner are you? That was barely anything. 

3:51  
~My phone doesn’t have much storage. 

3:51  
-Get more.

3:55  
~Not everyone can afford that, you know.

3:55  
-suck my dick. 

3:57  
~Nice.  
~Wrong side of the bed again?

3:59  
-Every side is the wrong side. 

4:00  
~Maybe you need a new bed. 

4:02  
-Maybe I need a new life. 

4:05  
~You ok?

4:10  
-Fuck’s sake.  
-Sure am.  
-are you in class?

4:15  
~No. I’m at work. 

4:15  
-God, texting at work too, you really have no regard for rules, do you?

4:20  
~I could stop. 

4:20  
-I never said it was a bad thing. 

4:22  
~It’s really quiet here right now anyway. 

4:22  
-Where do you work?

4:23  
~So you can come bug me in person? I think not.

4:30  
-Am I bugging you?

4:31  
~Yes  
~I like it though. 

4:32  
-Fucking weirdo. 

4:34  
~I work at a cafe. I also work at a mechanics. And a bookstore. Also a diner some weekends. 

4:34  
-The fuck  
-and you study law  
-do you ever fucking sleep?

4:40  
~Consider the fact that the first time you texted me at 1 I was still very much awake on a uni night.

4:41  
-Fuck  
-Why the fuck do you work so many jobs?

4:42  
~I don’t know what universe you’re from, Mr Austen, but in mine, you work jobs for money.

4:43  
-I’m not Mr Austen yet, you know, we haven’t had the ceremony yet.

4:50  
~Doesn’t your girlfriend find it weird that you’re planning on marrying a cat you’ve never met?

4:55  
-I find it weird that you assume I have a girlfriend.  
-what about me makes you think that I have a girlfriend.  
-I’m a university drop out.  
-who apparently has no life so texts strangers.  
-half my vocab consists of the word fuck.  
-plus I’m gay. 

5:05  
~Oh ok. 

5:10  
~That’s fine. Obviously. If you were worried. 

5:15  
~Joey?

5:16  
-Not Joey. And I know it’s fine. I wasn’t worried. I was fucking driving. 

5:18  
~Right.  
~boyfriend then?

5:19  
-Ha. Ha. ha. No. 

5:25  
~You driving anywhere in particular? 

5:26  
-I want to go home. 

5:27  
~?? So go home??

5:30  
-I can’t.

5:32  
~... Dick has a girl round?

5:33  
-Different home. 

5.35  
~Oh.  
~Why can’t you go home?

5:40  
-Shit happens. 

5:42  
~I don’t have a home.

5:44  
-You’re telling me your homeless?

5:45  
~No. Just I don’t have anywhere that’s home to me. 

5:46  
-What about that church flat with the nice nuns, huh?

5:50  
~Pretty close, but no. 

5:51  
-Why?

5:51  
~Shit happens. 

5:52  
-I’m realising that’s only fun when I’m the one saying it. 

5:55  
~Deal with it. 

5:55  
-How long are you at work for?

5:56  
~Why?

5:57  
-I want cat pics. 

6:00  
~I’ll be home in half an hour. God you’re needy. 

6:01  
-I don’t think it’s needy to miss my fiance. 

6:02  
~I’ll text you then. I gotta go. 

 

-

He can already hear voices inside the flat before he pulls out his door key. Almost turns right around and leaves again. He’s not in the mood for company. He opens the door. 

“Ronan!” Jane calls happily, “The artist arrives!” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan mumbles. 

“I love the drawings,” Jane grins, “you really captured Richard’s likeness as well. So beautiful. You made him a bit too big, though.” 

“Jane!” Gansey gasps, Ronan snorts. 

“I know,” he says, “just trying to appease his ego, y’know.” 

“Oh I know,” Jane says with a wink. Gansey pouts. 

“Where were you?” Gansey asks now, “I know you said not to worry, but when you tell me not to worry I can’t help but worry. You have only Jane here to thank for me not calling you as soon as it hit 5.” 

“God,” Ronan drawls, drops himself down on the couch, “what kinda fucking lame ass curfew is 5? I was out with Matthew. We went to see mum. Then we had pie. Then I went for a drive.” 

“Oh,” Gansey says. Jane raises her eyebrows. Ronan doesn’t know if she’s aware of the significance of any of this yet, and he doesn’t really want to know. “How was it?” Gansey asks. 

“Fine,” Ronan grunts, “Mathew’s doing good.” 

“I’m glad,” Gansey says, perches on the couch next to Ronan, “how’s your mum?” 

“The same,” Ronan says flatly, closes his eyes, “always, Gansey. You don’t need to ask everytime. She’s always the same. Always will be. God. Fuck.” 

“Sorry,” Gansey says, Ronan knows he’s not apologising for what he said, “I’m sorry Ronan.” 

“God,” Ronan spits out, “don’t. It’s fine.” 

Jane sits down on his otherside. He feels like he’s being penned in. 

“You said pie,” she says, “did you go to Poldma’s?

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, as non-committal as he can, “I thought Matthew would like the shakes.” 

His phone is vibrating in his pocket. 

“Did he?” Jane asks. 

“Yep,” Ronan says, “he likes almost everything, so it’s not that surprising.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “your phone sounds like it’s trying to tell you something urgent.” 

“God,” Ronan snaps, “it better fucking not be Declan.”  
It’s not Declan. Because it’s 7pm and 7pm now means cats. He doesn’t hide his screen in time, and Gansey lets out a noise of pure delight. 

“Oh my God,” he says, “are you still texting the cat lady?” 

“No,” Ronan says, presses his phone screen to his chest, “God.”

“Ok,” Gansey smirks, “so who’s texting you pictures of cats? I know you don’t have Matthew saved in your contacts as Asshole #5”

“He’s not a cat lady,” Ronan mumbles, “and he only has one cat, so it’s not like he’s a cat lord either.” 

“Oh my God,” Gansey says again, slower this time, “Oh my God, seriously? You’re still texting him?” 

“It’s not a fucking big deal, Gansey,” Ronan snaps, “stop trying to make it one.” 

“Well excuse me,” Gansey snorts, throws his arm around Ronan’s shoulders, “you have an extreme dislike in texting anyone, in talking to anyone, in any form of socialising, so I think the fact that you are still texting someone, anyone, is indeed, a big deal.” 

“It’s not,” Ronan says, “he’s funny, ok? And I’m bored.” 

“Funny?” Jane raises her eyebrows and smirks truthfully evilly, “are you serious right now Ronan Lynch?” 

“What the fuck?” Ronan snaps back at her. 

“You have a crush on someone,” she says sweetly, “who is it?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan says, wriggles out from under Gansey’s arm, “I don’t have a crush on someone I don’t even know.” 

“What?” Jane frowns, “How and why are you texting someone you don’t know?” 

“Because-” Gansey begins. 

“None of your business,” Ronan says, “Dick. I told you. One time only.”

“Oh come on,” Janes says, “you can’t leave me hanging like that! Ronan Lynch has a crush on some mysterious guy in his phone, and the only thing I know is that he isn’t a cat lord?” 

“I’m going to my room. Dick. Don’t spill secrets or I’ll spill something worse,” Ronan hisses. 

“Have you eaten dinner?” Gansey calls out before Ronan can disappear, “We were going to order pizza in. We could order for you too?” 

“I’ve eaten,” Ronan grunts, “good fucking night.” 

 

-  
Thursday  
7:01  
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7:02  
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7:03  
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7:04  
~Happy?

7:13  
-You almost fucking burnt a hole through my pants with all that fucking buzzing. 

7:14  
~God, you try to do something nice…

7:15  
-Yeah I’m happy. You should drop out of law and do photography. 

7:17  
~ha ha

7:17  
-I’m being serious. 

7:18  
~Ok sure. 

7:19  
-How was work?

7:20  
~Seriously? You’re asking me how work was?

7:21  
-God, you try to do something nice…

7:23  
~Work was fine. My boss is kinda strange, but really lovely, so I can’t really complain. 

7:24  
-But you’re going to anyway?

7:26  
~No. I like working there.  
~Well, I mean. Comparatively.  
~It’s not exactly my dream job.

7:27  
-What about the mechanics/bookstore/diner? Any of them your dream job?

7:30  
~Currently I would prefer to be interning for a law firm. 

7:31  
-So why aren’t you?

7:33  
~Shit happens.  
~It’s not as easy as you might imagine, you know. 

7:33  
-Fine

7:35  
~Do you work?

7:40  
-Usually I am unembarrassed to say this. No I don’t.  
-Yes, I know, I’m unemployed and I’m not even studying, what a fucking loser. 

7:42  
~I wasn’t going to say that.

7:42  
-You were thinking it. 

7:45  
~Maybe a little. But not on purpose. 

7:47  
-Sure.

7:50  
~it’s whatever. Shit happens, right?  
~What do you want to do?

7:52  
-God I don’t know.  
-Farm.  
-Paint.  
-Sleep.

7:59  
~Sounds good to me. Do you have any plans for that?

8:00  
-Well I’m probably going to sleep sometime tonight. 

8:01  
~Jack. 

8:02  
-Not Jack, Lewis. I don’t know. I’m not going back to uni. I might get to go back to the family farm though. In a few years. 

8:03  
~Not Lewis, Raoul. The family farm? Is this the home you can’t go home to?

8:04  
-Not Raoul, Erik. Yeah. Don’t ask. 

8:05  
~Ok. Not Erik. Were you making a phantom of the opera reference?

8:07  
-I was a fucking art student. Of course I was. 

8:07  
~Nice. 

-

Friday  
7:01 (am)  
~Can I rant at you for a bit?

7:02  
-Does it have to be right now? When only demons are awake?

7:03  
~Demons and me, apparently. 

7:04  
-You could be a demon.

7:05  
~If you’re awake enough to be rude you’re awake enough to be ranted at. 

7:05  
-Ok god fine shoot. 

7:08  
~So I have a pretty shit car. I’ve had it for like 5 years now because I can’t afford to get another one, and I’ve been keeping it together with like fucking tape and mechanical genius. The way it was going, it was gonna last another year, maybe a year and a half tops. That would have been great. I would have (hopefully) got a good enough job by then that I wouldn’t need 4 fucking jobs so I wouldn’t need to drive all over the fucking city so I could either ditch the car or even maybe buy a new one. But no. Instead? This complete fucking asshole. And I mean asshole, you should have seen his fucking car, sideswiped me in the middle of some stupid ass drag race or some shit. Didn’t even stop. Took out half my car. I’m fucking missing work. And I’m gonna have to fucking miss first class, and I can’t fucking afford to fix my car so I’m going to have to get a bike or some shit and that’s going to cut into my time even more. God. Plus, I definitely don’t have the fucking funds to pay for the hospital, and everything is fucking shit. 

7:10  
-Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
-Are you ok?  
-Shit that fucker  
-God

7:11  
~I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have unloaded all that on you, but it actually kind of helped.  
~I’m fine.  
~Well. I have a broken arm, but it’s my left one, so I’m fine. 

7:12  
-Can I call?

7:17  
~I would prefer you not to. 

7:18  
-I want to help. 

7:20  
~I didn’t tell you as some sort of pity ploy, or gold digging scheme. I don’t need your help. Thanks, though.

7:21  
-Well fine, whatever. Do you at least have someone there who is helping you? God. 

7:30  
~Doctors?

7:30  
-I mean a friend, you fuck ass. 

7:31  
~I’ll call them after, I don’t wanna freak them out. 

7:31  
-Oh but it’s ok to freak me out? To wake me up? 

7:35  
~...Sorry. 

7:40  
-Fuck. 

7:41  
~Adam.

7:42  
-No I’m not a fucking Adam. I don’t want to fucking play that right now. 

7:42  
~No. My name’s Adam. 

7:44  
-Oh.  
-Well fucking great.  
-Now instead of thinking, oh no, asshole #5 is in the fucking hospital, i can think oh no adam is in the fucking hospital. Great. 

7:45  
~I’m sorry for freaking you out, ok? God. I kinda think I should be the one who’s more freaked out here. 

7:47  
-I’m not fucking good with people in hospital. I’m fucking sorry.  
-fuciing call your friends, ok? God. 

7:50  
~Whatever. 

-

 

There’s no fucking way he’s going back to sleep now. Doesn’t stop him from trying for a while though. When he does give it up for a lost cause, he gets up to seek out Gansey. He doesn’t know if it’s so he can tell Gansey what’s happened - doesn’t know if he wants to share this kind of shit with Gansey - or if he just wants to be around someone who’s actually around.  
Gansey’s on the phone when Ronan walks into the kitchn, voice low, face serious. This usually means he’s talking to his mother about her political campaign or some other shit, so Ronan steals the coffee out of his hands, and drops himself down at the counter. He takes a sip, and then regrets it. It tastes like a holiday threw up in it. He drinks it anyway. 

“Ronan,” Gansey says a moment later. He no longer has his phone to his ear, but he’s still looking at it, typing furiously, “Jane’s having an emergency, I have to go.” 

Not his mother then.

“I’m having a fucking emergency,” Ronan mumbles. 

Gansey pauses in his typing to look up at Ronan. “Are you?” he asks, “Do you need me?” 

Ronan huffs loudly, pushes Gansey’s disgusting coffee back at him, “I’m not,” he says, “go help Jane.” 

Gansey resumes his typing half heartedly, he’s still frowning at Ronan even as he reaches for his coffee. “If you do need me,” Gansey says, “you can always call me, ok? You could come with me, if you like.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan groans, “I was fucking...kidding. I’m not having an emergency except for the fact that I’m up this fucking early having a conversation with you.”

Gansey’s frown deepens, but he looks away and back at his phone. Swills the rest of his coffee, dumps the mug in the sink, and then strides across the room, collecting his bag and keys as he goes. He pauses before he shuts the door though, stands half in half out of the flat.  
“If you do need something,” he says, “call me.”  
He shuts the door before Ronan can reply scathingly.  
Now he’s awake and alone and that fucker. Adam. His name was Adam. That fucker Adam was an asshole. Did he really expect he could just tell Ronan all of that shit without freaking him out? Without Ronan wanting to fucking help? Did he think Ronan that much of an asshole?  
Fuck.  
This shouldn’t be as fucking irritating to him as it was. He didn’t even know this guy. They’d only been talking for a few days. He was being stupid. Adam honestly didn’t fucking matter. None of this made him feel less shit though. Goddamn. 

He draws a dick on every square of toilet paper on their current roll. Almost leaves it unspooled, decides it’d be funnier if he rolls it back up. Not that Gansey would actually use it. It’d be sent to the rubbish, or to the windowsill of shame for a time when needs were desperate.  
That takes up an hour of his time.  
He texts Gansey. 

Friday  
9:25 am  
-Maggot ok?

9:29  
_Jane is fine. 

Ok then.  
He goes through the texts he’d been ignoring from Declan.  
This is always a bad idea. 

 

(>Asshole#1)  
Sunday  
7:56 (pm)  
>I didn’t fucking actually mean you should leave, you prick.  
>I’m not the fucking bad guy here. 

8:12  
>Matthew thinks you’re offended because I was insulting your gayness. I wasn’t. 

8:30  
>God, Ronan. You know I don’t give a fuck about you being gay.  
>It was just a stupid comment.  
>If I apologise will you come back to the restaurant?

8:35  
>I’m sorry. Come the fuck back. You’re ruining this for Matthew. 

9:00  
>Do you actively take pleasure in pissing me off?

 

Monday  
2:05 (pm)  
>You never answered me at dinner. Are you going to see your doctor again?

5:17  
>I’m not asking this to pry. 

10:12  
>I think you should. 

 

Tuesday  
10:17 (am)  
>I’m meeting with the lawyer today.  
>Do you want to come?

10:30  
>If you can sit here without yelling, that is. 

10:59  
>You can’t fucking accuse me of going behind your back about the fucking farm all the time if you’re the one ignoring my texts. 

11:42  
>Ronan.  
>Ronan.  
>Ronan.

12:02 (pm)  
>I’m meeting him at half past if you want to be there.

3:07  
>Nothing new from the lawyer.  
>Sorry.  
>You should have been there to yell at him. 

Wednesday  
9:50 (pm)  
>Why the fuck is Joseph Kavinsky texting me?  
>Ronan.  
>Will you please fucking answer me.  
>You’re not still racing with him  
>Tell me you’re not. 

10:00  
>You know he’s bad news.  
>You know that.  
>Tell him to stop texting me. 

 

Thursday  
4:59 pm  
>Matty say you guys went and saw mum today.  
>I’m glad.  
>Wish I’d been there.  
>Did you talk to her? 

-

He’s not quite sure if this falls under spite or self loathing, or just general idiocy, but he really fucking needs to get out of the house, to find something to take the fucking edge off of whatever it is.  
It’s not that he isn’t aware he’s being stupidly destructive, he’s very aware of it, he just doesn’t really care currently. He fucking hates reading Declan’s texts. He always tries to be fucking conciliatory in his texts. It’s all hot and fucking cold, and Ronan doesn’t want to deal with that. Maybe if Declan knew how to make his actual mouth say the word sorry, Ronan would appreciate his texts more. 

He’s only planning on driving a bit. Speeding a bit. He’s not planning on engaging in any fucking faces. He doesn’t need Declan to have more of an excuse to be disappointed in him. Or Gansey for that matter.  
Maybe he has a fucking alarm, or tracker or something on him though, because no sooner has he pushed the speed limit, Kavinsky’s white mitsu rears up on the horizon like a fucking ugly shark.  
He doesn’t want to race Kavinsky.  
He slows back down. Pulls into a parking lot. Pretends it’s not what he wanted when Kavinsky follows him in and parks so close to his car that Ronan can’t safely open the door. He doesn’t bother trying to. Doesn’t want any of that ugly white paint chipping onto his car. 

“Baby,” Kavinsky leers, rolling his passenger side window down and leaning across the seats to look through it at Ronan. “I was wondering when you’d come to your sense. Ready to ride?” 

“I’m not racing you,” Ronan says more firmly than he feels, “I don’t even fucking want to be talking to you. Fuck off.” 

“Right,” Kavinsky grins, flicks his sunglasses off, “that’s why you pulled in here and rolled down your window, yeah?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Whaddya want, princess?” 

“Fuck off, K.” 

“It’s like that, huh?” Kavinsky drawls, undoes his seatbelt so he can learn further out of his window, almost into Ronan’s, “You being a pillow princess? Making me do all the hard work?” 

“I don’t want anything.” 

“You slipped Dick, huh?” Kavinsky asks, folds his arms on Ronan’s window sill, “He’s not making you feel good anymore? So you came back to me?” 

More or less. 

“Fuck no,” Ronan spits, “you fucker.” 

“Mm,” Kavinsky smiles, “you get a helluva lot less creative when you’re all wound up. Lemme help with that, huh?” 

“No,” Ronan says, voice weak. 

“I’ll give you mate’s rates,” Kavinsky says, “c’mon, Lynch, you know you want it.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do. That’s why you’re still sitting here, letting me talk you into it. You don’t wanna be responsible for making this decision, but you are anyway. You came here to me. You may as well get outta your prissy car and get into mine. Go all the way.” 

He may as well. It’s kind of true. 

“How much?” he asks. 

Kavinsky positively glows. 

“For you, babe? Free. So long as you give me a bit of that ass, yeah?” 

Ronan glowers at him. 

“I told you I’m not doing that again.” 

“You also told me you were done with drugs. And drinking. And racing. And me. Forgive me if I feel like you might have changed your mind.” 

“I haven’t.” 

“Well,” Kavinsky shrugs, withdraws his arms from Ronan’s car, “you’re not getting them any other way. We do it my way, or you don’t get the goods.” 

“I could find it from someone else,” Ronan points out vehemently. Knows he wouldn’t. 

“Sure,” Kavinsky scoffs, “you know no one else is gonna give you the high I do. I have the best in the city. Best you’ll ever have. I know you want it. You just have to come and get it.” 

Ronan tries to convince himself that he’s going to roll his window up. That he’s going to start his car back up. That he’s going to drive away. 

“Be quick about,” he says curtly, “I’m not fucking around.”

“Oh,” Kavinsky says, “but you will be. Come on then, my backseat’s waiting.” 

He has to slide across his seats so he can get out the other door. Walks around both his and Kavinsky’s car. Parked so close to his car, he hadn’t even noticed the dent in the car door, the missing mirror, the gash of gray paint chips along the side of it.  
He gets into the backseat, grabs Kavinsky’s wrists as he reaches for the zip of Ronan’s jacket. 

“The jacket doesn’t need to be taken off,” he says firmly, “this is in and out. We’re not fucking getting romantic about it.” 

“Fuck romance,” Kavinsky sneers, “I just wanted more skin. Whatever. Please yourself. Don’t complain when you get too hot,” he adds, tugs his hands free from Ronan’s grip and makes short work of undoing Ronan’s trousers. He does this by fucking pulling the fucking button off, and Ronan growls, slaps his hand away. 

“The fuck are you doing?” he snaps, “Stop ruining my fucking clothes.” 

“Marking my territory,” Kavinsky replies calmly, puts his hand back to unzip the jeans, “lift your fucking hips. Make this easier on me, princess.” 

“God,” Ronan huffs, does as he’s told. “The fuck happened to your ugly ass car? Proko piss you off again?” 

Kavinsky snorts into Ronan’s neck, bites down at the tendons. Ronan winces, flinches away, but Kavinsky just bites harder before releasing him and tugging his jeans down. 

“Nah,” he says, palming Ronan through his boxers with one hand, tugging at his own pants zip with the other, “some fucking trash got in my way this morning. You should’ve seen it, baby, ugliest car I’ve ever seen. It was just begging to be smashed.” 

“Ngh,” Ronan says, tugs Kavinsky’s hand away from his dick, “I don’t want you to fucking touch me. Just fuck me and get it over with.” 

“God,” Kavinsky snaps, “you’re such a fucking fag.” 

“Wait,” Ronan says, pulls Kavinsky’s hand back out of the front of his pants, “you fucking crashed into someone this morning?” 

“That’s what I said,” Kavinsky growls, tries to pull his hand from Ronan’s grip again but can’t quite do it, “he’s fucking fine, though, God, you bleeding heart.”

“Shit,” Ronan hisses, releases Kavinsky’s hand and reaches behind himself to scrabble at the door handle, “shit.” 

“The fuck?” Kavinsky yells, “Where the fuck are you going?” 

“Away,” Ronan snaps back, “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.” 

“Oh for fuck’s-” Kavinsky howls, climbs out after Ronan, “you can’t keep fucking leading me on and then abandoning me all blue balled, you wanker,” he says, “you’re not fucking getting your happy pills now.” 

“Don’t want them,” Ronan says, a lie, climbs back in though his passenger seat door and starts his car back up. 

“Lynch, you fucker,” Kavinsky says, edging in between their cars. 

Ronan takes off. 

His pants are still undone, he’d pulled them back up over his hips at least, but he feels fucking filthy. He wants to stop as soon as possible, but he doesn’t trust Kavinsky not to follow him and park next to him. He doesn’t stop till he gets hope, and then he calls the police. He leaves an anonymous tip. Hope it helps a little. There’s not really much more he can give than Kavinsky’s number plate and name, but it’s fucking something. 

1:30 (pm)  
-When will you be home.

1:33  
_Do you need me home now?

1:37  
-No. Just wondering so I know how long I can fucking wank in the lounge for. 

1:39  
_You’re disgusting.  
_I’ll be home after 4. I have class at 2. 

1:40  
-I’ll be thinking of you.

1:44  
_Ronan. 

-

He needs to do something.  
He takes out his paints.  
He puts his paints away again.  
He takes out his paints.  
He throws his paints at the wall.  
He digs out the permanent marker and grabs one of his fucking expensive canvases.  
He was just going to draw another dick, and call it a day. He could do a whole fucking art exhibition of dicks. He could call it, ‘portraits of my roomate on mundane objects’. Instead, he pulls his phone out again, opens his gallery, and flicks through his saved pictures of Jane Austen until he finds a picture he likes where she’s stretching, props his phone up next to the canvas, and draws that. 

3:30  
-(image attached)

3:42  
~Is that my cat? 

3:43  
-She’s my cat now. We’re engaged. Remember?

3:46  
~It’s beautiful.  
~I’m sorry. 

3:47  
-You don’t need to fucking apologise for liking my art. I know I’m an artistic genius. 

3:50  
~I’m sorry for getting mad at you this morning. I was pissed off, and hurt, and scared and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I felt a lot better after I called Blue. 

3:51  
-Blue??

3:52  
~She’s my flatmate. Really lovely. Very good in a crisis. 

4:00  
-Oh.  
-Are you ok?

4:02  
~Yeah. More or less.  
~I was worried I’d lose my job at the mechanics, but my boss said he’d still find stuff for me to do. I’m going to have to pull back from the diner though. I need both hands for that. 

4:04  
-That’s not too bad.  
-Did the hospital wring you dry?  
-Financially, I mean.

4:07  
~Yep.  
~Probably not as bad as it could have been. At least I had savings I could put to it. Plus, the police think they have a lead on who did it, so I might get some pay out.

4:10  
-I hope they get that fucker.

4:11  
~Me too. Graham.

4:12  
-I’m frankly offended that you would think I’m called Graham. I’m not an old man. 

4:12  
~I thought you were 222?

4:13  
-Ha.

4:13  
~Come on, I told you my name.

4:13  
-Ok, I’ll tell you mine.  
-Next time I’m in a car accident. 

4:15  
~You’re such a fucker

4:16  
-So my friends tell me.  
-are your friends writing on your cast?

4:17  
~Blue wants to. I’m not letting her. I can’t look scruffy in class.

4:18  
-That’s the fucking ponciest thing. 

4:18  
~Ok mr art student I can wear whatever I like, it’s not quite the same for law students. 

4:19  
-That’s the second most ponciest thing. 

4:20  
~What’re you up to?

4:21  
-That’s a boring question with a boring answer.

4:21  
~Humour me. I’m stuck in my bed, Blue won’t let me do any homework. 

4:22  
-I’m sitting on my bedroom floor. Listening to music. Texting you. That’s it. Boring.

4:23  
~What’re you listening to?

4:25  
-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdGsMeS1XM8

4:32  
~God that’s pretty grating.  
~I didn’t take you for a party boy, tbh. 

4:33  
-I’m not.  
-It’s just good music to drown out everything else.

4:33  
~What are you trying to drown out?

4:34  
-Nothing. Everything. Does it matter?

4:36  
~I mean. I’m gonna be free and bored for the next few hours if you’re looking for a free therapist to complain to about shit or whatever. 

4:37  
-I thought you did law, not psych.

4:38  
~Yeah so I’d probably suck at it, but still. If you wanna talk. 

4:40  
-I don’t.

4:40  
~Ok.

4:40  
-Ok.

 

-

Gansey gets home at 5. He has chinese takeaway tucked under his arm when he elbows his way into Ronan’s room, and he deposits them on Ronan’s bed before dropping down onto the floor next to him.  
“Emergency diverted?” Ronan mumbles. He’s lying on his back on the floor, in the spot which until recently had been a puddle of sunshine. It was still warm enough. 

“Yes,” Gansey says, “her flat mate, Parrish, the one I told you about, he was in a spot of trouble and she thought I could help.” 

“And could you?” 

“A bit. He’s very stubborn, but I think I got through.” 

“Good job Gansey.” 

“How was your day?” 

Ronan shuts his eyes. “Hey,” he says. 

“Yes?” 

“On a scale of 1-10, how fucked up am I?” 

“Ronan,” Gansey sighs, “that’s not - you’re not fucked up.” 

“Do you think I should go back to therapy?” 

“I think it could be helpful,” Gansey says, shuffles a bit closer so he can nudge his bare toes under Ronan’s back, “did something happen?” 

“I almost fucked up so badly, Gans,” Ronan whispers to the ceiling, “I was so fucking close. I wanted to.” 

“Fuck,” Gansey mumbles, “Ro. What happened? Did you - what happened?”

Ronan lets out a harsh laugh before he can help himself, pulls his hands out from beneath his head so he can brandish his wrists at Gansey. “No, not that. They’re fine, look,” he says, opens his eyes so he can tug his leather wristbands up and down so Gansey can see there’s no new marks on his arms, “I fucking went to K.” 

“Oh,” Gansey says. It’s a mixture of heavy disappointment and intense relief. Ronan can relate. 

“I- he - God. Gansey,” he can’t get it out, screws his eyes closed again and exhales loudly. 

“Ronan,” Gansey says gently, “what happened? Did he hurt you?” 

“God,” Ronan bites out, “no. Well. God. Yes. But it was my fault. I went to him. I told myself I wasn’t but I was. I asked for - for - for the shit he sells.” 

“Ok,” Gansey says carefully. It’s his ‘I’m not judging you’ voice that he puts on when he’s trying very hard not to be judgy. 

“He wouldn’t sell it to me unless I -” he doesn’t really want to say this out loud to Gansey. He supposes he doesn’t need to, but he kinda feels like Gansey deserves the truth. Even this kind of shitty truth. “Let him fuck me,” he spits out, “so I agreed. Because I’m a worthless piece of shit. I know this, that’s fine.” 

“Ok,” Gansey says, his careful tone fragmenting. 

“And I was going to. I actually was. I didn’t though. I got out of his car and left and I came home. Without the drugs. Before anything happened.” 

“Ok,” Gansey nods, reaches out slowly to grasp Ronan’s shoulder, “I’m proud of you.” 

“Well I’m fucking not,” Ronan says, “I almost fucked shit up. Again. That’s nothing to be fucking proud of. “

“No,” Gansey agrees, “it isn’t. But you didn’t, you got out. I’m proud of you for that.” 

“Be angry at me,” Ronan sniffs, “for fucking breaking my promises again. For coming so close to fucking all shit up.” 

“I don’t want to be,” Gansey sighs, “I’ll be angry at you later if you want, but not right now.” 

“Fine,” Ronan says, sniffs again, “fine.” 

“I think going back to therapy would be a good idea,” Gansey says softly, “you don’t have to go back to the same dr, if you don’t want. I can help you find a new one if you’d like.”

“I dunno,” Ronan says, “I don’t know what I want.” 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “what about Chinese? Do you think you wants Chinese?” 

-

Saturday  
9:13 (am)  
~I’m already so bored of not being able to move my arm. It’s so itchy. 

9:17  
-Ha ha

9:18  
~Asshole.  
~Have you ever broken a bone?

9:19  
-Broke my leg a couple of years back. Car crash. Broke my wrist when I was 8. Jumped out of the hay loft. 

9:20  
~Oh yikes. 

9:21  
-First broken bone? Welcome to the wonderous world of stinky casts. 

9:22  
~Oh. Well no. I’m used to it.

9:23  
-???  
-How many bones have you broken??

9:25  
~This is the third time I’ve broken this arm. Broke my right arm once. Couple of ribs. Fractured my left ankle when I was 11, again when I was 14. I’ve broken all my fingers. My nose has been broken heaps of times, but, that’s not a bone so I guess it doesn’t count.

9:25  
-What the fuck.  
-How?

9:26  
~Shit happens. 

9:27  
-Ok no.  
-That’s too intense. The hell did you do as a kid? Jump out of aeroplanes?  
-Were you bullied a lot?  
-Is that why you cyber bully me now?

9:30  
~No.  
~I don’t really want to go into it, Samuel. 

9:31  
-Not Samuel.  
-I broke my brother’s nose once.

9:32  
~Why?

9:33  
-Shit happens.

9:35  
~You goddamned asshole. 

9:37  
-My dad died, and I didn’t think he was grieving appropriately. I was an asshole. So was he. 

9:38  
~Well shit.  
~I’m not sure how to respond to that.

9:39  
-Well shit seemed to work nicely. 

9:40  
~How long ago was this?

9:42  
-almost 4 years now. 

9:42  
~That’s hard, man, I’m sorry.

9:43  
-Please don’t do that. 

9:46  
~You were 18?

9:47  
-Yeah.  
-Declan was 19.

9:48  
~Shit.

9:50  
-Do you have siblings?  
-Broken any of their noses?

9:51  
~Ha. No. Thank God.  
~Do you just have the one brother?

9:53  
-Nah I have 2. Matty’s a few years younger than me. He was only 15 when dad died. 

9:54  
~Shit.  
~You didn’t break his nose, I hope?

9:56  
-Course not. Matty’s an angel.  
-He has to be to make up for me and Dec. 

9:57  
~Oh dear. 

-

“Are you going to tell Declan you’re thinking about going back to therapy?” Gansey asks over lunch. He’d gone out in the morning to go rowing with his university team, but he’d ditched their post practice feast to bring falafels and wraps back home to Ronan instead. Ronan had appreciated this until Gansey had opened his mouth just now. 

“Yeah right,” he snorts, “and get an ‘I told you so’?”

“I don’t think he’d say that,” Gansey says, takes a large bite from his salad wrap and speaks through it, spitting lettuce, “I think he’d just be happy for you.” 

“Sure,” Ronan says, fiddles with the tinfoil round his wrap, “but Declan’s happy looks an awful lot like smug.” 

“Well you don’t have to, obviously,” Gansey sighs, “I was just wondering.” 

“Stop wondering,” Ronan says, “God, I should never have said anything to you.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Gansey says sincerely, “I’m not going to keep bugging you about it, I just want you to know I’m here for you.” 

“That’s very sweet and all,” Ronan says, “but it’s kind of ruined by the mayo all over your face.” 

“So,” Gansey says, wiping his face with one of the many napkins he’d stuffed into the bag with the food, “Jane’s flat is having a party tonight. For Parrish. It’s the first night since he moved in that he’s not abominably busy. Would you like to come?” 

“I’m not gonna gatecrash,” Ronan says flatly. 

“You’re invited, Ronan,” Gansey says, “Jane invited you, and Noah wants you there. Parrish told me to bring whoever I wanted.” 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Ronan says, shoves 2 falafels at once into his mouth. 

“Come on,” Gansey tries, “it could be fun. You’ll know a lot of people. Plus, Jane’s new flatmate has a cat. I know how you feel about cats.” 

That is actually a little bit tempting. 

“I feel like I should tell you,” Ronan says, faux seriousness filling his tone, “I’m a one cat man, and currently I’m already engaged.” 

“Excuse me?” Gansey laughs, “Please elaborate.” 

“My cat lord,” Ronan says, a little stiff, “his cat. She’s my one true love.” 

“Oh my!” Gansey says, “How exciting. I thought he wasn’t a cat lord?” 

“He isn’t,” Ronan says sternly, “I just didn’t know how else to tell you who I was talking about.” 

“Does he have a name?” 

“Of course he has a name,” Ronan snaps. 

“And it is..?” Gansey asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Nah,” Ronan shakes his head firmly, “nope. I’m not giving you any more ammo.” 

“Asshole#5 it is then,” Gansey sighs dramatically, “how you make me suffer, Ronan.” 

“You love me and you know it,” Ronan shoots back. 

“Don’t rub it in,” Gansey says, tone soft, “so. This guy. Is Jane right?” 

“Is Jane right what? What’s the maggot saying?” 

“You have a crush on him?” Gansey asks, his smile altogether too pleased. 

“Fuck that,” Ronan snaps, “No. I don’t even know what he looks like. Of course I don’t have a crush on him. I barely know him. I’m only texting him for his cat pics.”

“Ok,” Gansey shrugs, “sounds fake, but ok.” 

“God,” Ronan narrows his eyes, “you’ve been hanging out with Cheng again.” 

“Henry is lovely,” Gansey says staunchly, “I know you like him, under all your sarcasm about his hair.” 

“Henry is like the human version of strawberry bubblegum,” Ronan says, “Will he be at the party tonight?” 

“Yep,” Gansey nods, “Jane’s a fan of him.”

“Right then,” Ronan nods as well, “I’m definitely not coming tonight then. Have fun with your nerds and snobs without me.”

-

7:39  
-What’re you up to?

7:42  
~Boring questions get boring answers…

7:43  
-I’m bored as fuck, whatever you’re doing is probably going to be more interesting. 

7:44  
~I’m psyching myself up for a party.

7:45  
-God. Sounds awful. Why?

7:46  
~Blue insisted. She thinks I need to make more friends and not spend so much time studying. 

7:47  
-Blue sounds like an ass. 

7:50  
~Maybe a bit. But she means well.  
~I just hate parties. 

7:51  
-Yeah people suck. 

7:52  
~I’m not good at meeting new people. I tend to come off really stiff. 

7:53  
-It’s all good, people will be expecting that from a to be lawyer.

7:54  
~Not helping.  
~I don’t feel like I fit in with the crowd coming tonight.  
~I don’t look like I belong at law school, or with them. 

7:54  
-God you did a really bad job at psyching yourself up. You wet blanket.

7:55  
~Gee. Thanks. 

7:56  
-You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry about coming off a bit stiff, lots of people will be meeting new faces tonight, they won’t notice. It’s not a job interview, it’s a party. Don’t drink if you don’t want to, people won’t care so long as you have something in your cup fill it with juice. Who cares if you fit in with them or not, if they’re not ok with a bit of diversity in their group than they’re not worth mingling with anyway.  
-Fuckface.

7:59  
~That… actually helped a bit.  
~Thanks. 

8:02  
-On the off chance, do you know if a guy called Noah will be there?

8:03  
~I think I Noah the guy you’re talking about.  
~Sorry. Yeah. Skinny, pale, very sweet? 

8:04  
-Generally covered in glitter? Yes. 

8:05  
~Yeah he’s here.

8:05  
-Fuck. I think my roommate’s going to be at that party. 

8:06  
~Really?

8:07  
-God. If you meet any Dicks, stay away from them.

8:09  
~I thought he was your best friend?  
~Or is it me you don’t want him to meet?

8:10  
-I have an irrational fear that he will figure out who you are and then be wholly embarrassing. 

8:11  
~Why would it be embarrassing?  
~Do you talk about me, Jamal?

8:12  
-Not Jamal. And no. But he’s caught me texting you.  
-I don’t text people. So he’s interested.  
-Too interested. 

8:13  
~You don’t text people? That sounds suspiciously blatantly like a lie.

8:13  
-I don’t. I hate texting. I hate my phone. I hate talking to people. Feel flattered, Asshole#5

8:14  
~You sure have a way of makin people feel special. 

8:15  
-Go fucking party. 

8:25  
~What are you doing tonight? 

8:26  
-Not wasting my time at some dumb party. 

8:27  
~I wouldn’t have minded meeting you. 

8:30  
-You didn’t even want me to call the other day. 

 

-

11:39  
_I’m staying at Jane’s tonight, ok?

11:43  
-I’m not your mother you don’t need to fucking check in with me goddamn. 

11:45  
_Love you too Lynch. 

 

-

 

Sunday  
12:02 (am)  
~(incoming call)

“The hell?” Ronan answers his phone, trapping it between his ear and shoulder while he wrangles with a canvas he’s half way through stretching, “This better not be a fucking butt dial, Adam.” 

“No, it’s not.” Adam’s voice is quiet over the phone, nearly inaudible over the background clamor of low music and laughter. 

“What’s up?” 

“I did want you to call the other day,” Adam replies, voice still far too low, Ronan has to strain to hear him, “I was just scared.” 

“Adam,” Ronan sighs, he recognises the tilting of Adam’s voice, “you been drinking?”

“So what if I have?” Adam’s voice gets a little louder with petulance, but still not loud enough, “I’m an adult.” 

“Ok,” Ronan scoffs, “why the fuck were you scared of me calling you the other day, then? Enlighten me.” 

Adam’s laughing on the other end of the phone. It would be nice, except it sounds thoroughly self deprecating. 

“I didn’t want you to hear me crying,” he says plainly, “not the first time we spoke at least. What kind of impression would that make? Fucking pathetic.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says slowly, “well that’s stupid. I get it, but it’s stupid. I wouldn’t have given a fuck.” 

“Sure,” Adam says, “ok. I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m crying then.” 

“You do that,” Ronan replies, can finally release his canvas in favour of readjusting his phone, and stands up. “Why aren’t you partying still?”

“Too tired,” Adam sighs, “it was nice though.” 

“Nice, but you still got peer pressured into drinking?” 

“Geez,” Adam laughs, “it wasn’t as bad this time. It felt safer not being out in town.” 

“Ok,” Ronan shrugs, “did you… just call to chat then?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, “I wanted to text you but it’s too much work one handed and tipsy.” 

“Oh yeah,” Ronan says, he hadn’t even thought of that, “how’s your arm doing?” 

“It hurts,” it sounds like Adam’s shrugging, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Ha ha, handle. Hand.”

“Ok,” Ronan snorts, “I think you’re drunker than I realised. That was awful, Adam.”

“Psch,” Adam says, “I’m a comedic genius, Harry, get over it.” 

“Not Harry,” he says, opens his mouth to say more, but then Adam’s saying - 

“Oh hi, Gansey, you good?” 

He can’t hear what Gansey’s replying, it’s muffled and vague but undoubtedly Gansey, and Adam laughs in reply, says goodnight. 

“Sorry,” he says to Ronan, “that was just my friend Gansey saying goodnight.”

“Oh,” Ronan says flatly. 

“He’s really great,” Adam continues, “Blue introduced us. I really didn’t think I’d get on with him when I first met him, he seemed so stuffy, but actually he’s really fun. Really sweet. He helped me out the other day after the car accident. little pompous, yeah, but- hey - are you still there?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Listening to you ramble,” Ronan says, “listen, Adam-” he pauses, isn’t sure if he actually wants to say this.

“I’m listening,” Adam says cheerfully. 

“Um,” Ronan says, “y’know Dick?” 

“Not personally.” 

“No,” Ronan sighs, “no, you do. Dick’s Gansey. That was Dick. Gansey’s my roommate.” 

There’s silence on the other end of the phone, then a short disbelieving laugh, then more silence. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes seriously,” Ronan snaps, drags his hand down his face, “God. You’re Parrish, aren’t you?” 

More silence. 

“Noah and Jane’s new flatmate? Jane, as in Gansey’s girlfriend Jane? Who the fuck is Blue?” 

“Fuck,” Adam breathes, “oh my God. How the fuck do you not know that Blue’s name is Blue? Only Gansey calls her Jane. Oh my God.” 

“The fuck?” Ronan spits out, then, suspicion sneaking into his stomach, “Oh my God. Did you know about this the whole time? Did you know who I was? Did you - fuck - did you-” 

“No,” Adam says loudly, “no, I didn’t. Of course I didn’t, God, if I had I would have told you-” 

“Do you know who I am?” Ronan asks, gripping the phone tightly. 

“No,” Adam says again, then, “God, no, wait. You’re Ronan? Ronan Lynch?” 

“Fuck this,” Ronan snaps, hangs up. 

12:07  
~Ronan?  
~Did I say something wrong?  
~(incoming call)

12:08  
~(incoming call)  
12:09  
~Seriously?

12:20  
~I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to freak you out or whatever. Gansey talks about you a lot. I didn’t realise it was you obviously, but that’s how I know your name. 

12:30  
~I guess seeing as you haven’t told Gansey anything about me, you don’t want me to tell him either? 

12:32  
-Don’t say anything to Gansey about this. 

12:32  
~Ok. I won’t.  
~Are you ok?

-

He’s perfectly well aware that he’s being dramatic. Overly dramatic even, but he’s fucking horrified. It wasn’t fucking fair. He couldn’t quite say why it wasn’t, but it wasn’t. It made him feel sick. Of course Gansey was already friends with Adam. Of course Adam was a real person. Of course Adam had an actual life that revolved so close to Ronan but didn’t actually touch him. Of course he fucking did.  
He goes to bed. 

 

-

Monday  
9:32 (am)  
~(image attached)  
~Jane Austen misses you. 

12:02 (pm)  
-Jane Austen is a needy fucker sometimes. 

12:03  
~Oh, you are talking to me?

12:09  
-Don’t fucking push it. 

12:11  
~Will you at least tell me why my knowing Gansey is such a horrible thing, then?

12:13  
-That’s pushing it. 

12:15  
~Ronan.

12:20  
-God. I prefered it when you didn’t know my name. 

12:30  
~Ouch.  
~I would never have guessed Ronan. 

12:35  
-It’s not a horrible thing. You knowing Gansey.

12:36  
~Ok, what’s the horrible thing, then?

12:40  
-You knowing me. 

12:44  
~Ouch. 

12:45  
-Not because it’s YOU. Fuck.  
-Because it’s me. 

12:46  
~That doesn’t make any sense. 

12:47  
-It was easier not being a real person to you. 

12:50  
~???  
~You were a real person to me. 

12:55  
-Ok, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t fully formed. You had no idea what I looked like, or sounded like, what kind of clothes I wear, who I hang out with, the stories they tell about me. The only things you knew about me, my past and my present, were things I chose to tell you. I wasn’t a real person. 

12:57  
~Sure felt like a real person to me.  
~I’ve only ever heard Gansey say nice things about you.  
~Blue on the other hand.  
~Sorry. Not the best time for joking.  
~Does it bother you that I’m a real person now as well?

1:01  
-Fuck yes. 

1:02  
~Sorry. 

1:07  
-This is fucked up. 

1:10  
~Would it help if we actually met?  
~And then even though we’d both be real people, we’d get to make our opinions about each other? Rather than having them formed by what other people have said about us? 

1:20  
-I don’t want you to meet me. 

1:25  
~Ok. Sorry. 

1:25  
-But I really want to meet you.  
-So I guess I’m just gonna have to get over not wanting you to meet me. 

1:26  
~Do you wanna grab a coffee this afternoon?

1:35  
-Where?

1:36  
~Um, I’m actually working, but I’ll have a break at about 3.30, I thought we could meet at Poldma’s? Do you know it?

1:40  
-Fuck.  
-Yes.  
-Ok. 3.30. At Poldma’s. 

1:41  
~I’ll be the one in the apron. 

1:45  
-I’ll be the one with the fucking face. 

1:45  
~...Ok. 

-

He calls Gansey, changes his mind just as Gansey picks up. 

“Ronan? Are you alright? What’s up?” 

“Uh,” Ronan says cleverly, “we need milk. Bye Dick.” 

“Ronan, wha-”

-

He calls Jane. Blue. Maggot. Whatever. 

“Ronan? To what do I owe this awful surprise?”

“Your fucking name is Blue?” 

“Excuse me?” She snaps back at him, “The hell is this? The name police?”

“No,” Ronan grunts, “seriously, your name is Blue?” 

“Uh,” Jane says, “yeah. Last I checked. That’s what’s on the birth certificate.”

“God,” Ronan says, “I’m going to fucking kill Dick.” 

“Oh hang on,” Jane/Blue snorts, “fucking Dick, has he seriously never told you that he’s the only one that calls me Jane?” 

“How the fuck didn’t you notice?” Ronan snaps, “I don’t call you Blue.”

“Yeah, but you don’t call me Jane, either, usually it’s Maggot, or short stop, or dwarf, or-”

“Ok, ok, ok.” 

“So,” Blue/Jane says, “what prompted our darling Dick to finally tell you?” 

“He didn’t,” Ronan sighs, “ok. Listen, Jane. Blue. Maggot. Whatever.”

“I don’t really want to be listening to this,” Blue sneers cheerfully, “but go on.” 

“Adam told me.” 

“What?” Blue asks, “Our Adam?” 

“Yes, your Adam, apparently. Adam Parrish. Your flatmate. The one I’ve not met. He told me.” 

“How?” she asks, “What?” she asks, “Oh,” she says, “my God. The one you’ve not met. Oh my God. Lynch.” 

“Shut the fuck up you pygmy puff,” Ronan snaps. 

“Adam’s the one you’ve been crushing on?” 

“I didn’t know who he was!” Ronan replies hotly. 

“Oh Lynch,” Blue says, “you really were crushing on him, weren’t you?” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says succinctly, hangs up. 

-

He’s early. Which is embarrassing. So he stays in his car and circles the block until he’s almost late, and then he panics. Adam’s only on his break, he probably doesn’t have that much time, if Ronan’s actually late then they won’t actually get to see each other. 

Adam is indeed the one wearing the apron. He’s also the one wearing the freckles, and the awkward smile, and the annoyingly good looking face. Ronan could fucking punch something. He stops in the doorway. Swears under his breath, and very almost walks out. He only doesn’t because Persephone is at his elbow, taking it it one hand and leading him further into the room while talking about spice and edible flowers and pecan pie, until she’s led him right up to the counter that Adam’s standing behind. 

“You can take your break now, Adam,” she tells him, “you have a puzzle to finish.” 

“Uh,” Adam says, “Thanks Persephone.” he turns to Ronan, eyebrows raised, “I can’t believe we’ve already fucking met,” he says. 

“Fuck,” Ronan says with feeling, “oh my fucking God. This just keeps getting worse.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, awkward, obviously uncomfortable. He fiddles with the ties on his apron, and then jerks his head to a booth. “Coffee?” 

“Please,” Ronan grunts, pushes away from the counter to go hide into the booth. It’s not really hiding seeing as Adam picks up a tray with a jug of coffee and 2 mugs on it and follows him into it, but it feels better than just standing around like a fool. 

“Ok,” Adam says, pours the coffee, “so, uh, you look different. To what I expected.” 

Ronan draws his shoulders together, glares, “Thanks,” he snaps, “do tell me how disappointing I am in person.” 

Adam rolls his eyes at him. 

“Ok, you cynical wombat,” Adam snaps back, “first of all, different doesn’t mean bad or disappointing, it just means that I didn’t have all the fucking information. I thought you’d look more arty or something, Gansey’s always going on about how great you are at painting and how beautiful your illustrations are. You look a lot edgier than I expected.”

Ronan keeps glaring at him, but lets his shoulders drop back down. 

“Ok,” he says slowly, “edgier, huh?” 

“Yup,” Adam says cooly, sips at his coffee, “fucking spiky too. I can see why Blue likes you.” 

“Fine,” Ronan says, pulls his mug closer to him, holds it in front of him like a very uneffective shield. “You look different too.” 

“Oh yes?” Adam raises his eyebrows, quirks his lips into an almost smile. 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts, “less lawyer, more holy offspring of a human and a fucking wood elf or something.” 

“Um,” Adam says, “I think you mean unholy.” 

“The hell I do,” Ronan scoffs, takes a gulp of his coffee and burns his tongue. 

“Um,” Adam says, “thanks.” 

“Why,” Ronan asks, “did you have your fucking lost cat posters all the way over on the other side of the city when you live like 5 fucking minutes from mine.” 

“I moved from there,” Adam shrugs, “I thought she might have tried to go back and gotten lost.” 

“Who found her?” Ronan asks, knows that this isn’t really on topic with what their objective for today was, but this was something he could do. 

“Some kid down the block from us, turns out she just went out and couldn’t fuckin’ remember which house was ours or something.” 

“Why did you keep texting me?” Ronan asks before he can stop his mouth. 

Adam shrugs again, “I don’t know,” he admits, “you seemed lonely.” Before Ronan can object and work his way up into offended, Adam drops his shoulders, “I was lonely,” he adds, “I was tired of pretending to be someone else, someone happy all the time. It was easier to talk to a stranger.” 

“Ok,” Ronan nods, “and - I don’t know.” 

Adam’s staring down at the table, as if could somehow ease the awkwardness. “I-” he starts, “I was really excited when I realised we were actually so close. That we knew the same people. I really wanted to meet you.” 

“That was optimistic of you,” Ronan observes, and then backtracks us Adam looks up at him, face fallen. “I mean,” he stumbles, “being excited about it. I’m really not all that exciting.” 

Now Adam rolled his eyes again. 

“Ok,” he says, “sure. You sure don’t look exciting. What with your huge ass leather jacket, and that tattoo I can see which you never even mentioned in your texts, and your art. That’s exciting enough for me.” 

“You have low standards,” Ronan says, dismissive, but grins only slightly awkwardly back at Adam across the table. 

“Um,” Adam says, “so- that time you were in here before, and you said you definitely didn’t wanna be set up with a waiter?” 

Ronan chokes on his coffee. 

“Yes?” he sputters. 

“Is that like, a hard and fast rule, or just -?” Adam shrugs.

“The fuck,” Ronan says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, “are you seriously implying - the - are you -?” 

Adam’s very slowly turning bright red, but his expression remains calmly resolute as he shrugs again. “Just wondering,” he says, accent suddenly far heavier than it had been. 

“Ok, no,” Ronan says, “stop just wondering. If you’re asking me out, ask me out. I’m not gonna sit here and play a guessing game.” 

“God you’re an asshole,” Adam says, rolling his eyes, “fine, ok. Do you wanna go on a date some time?”

“Why?” Ronan asks. 

“Asshole,” Adam reiterates fiercely, then, “I really liked chatting with you this past week. Plus I thought you were hot when you came in here before, and I think you’re hotter now that I know I like your personality as well. I don’t know. Maybe I like grumpy shits.”

“Ok,” Ronan says, “ok, ok. Ok.”

“Ok,” Adam repeats, his face is still very bright, but he’s smiling now, “cool.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet is being really weird, this is like the 3rd time I've attempted to upload this chapter - so if you're reading this and it appears to be missing like a whole chunk of text/plot? please tell me and I will reupload. xxx
> 
> Texting key 
> 
> -Ronan  
> _Gansey  
> ~Adam  
> Declan  
> +Noah  
> *Tad  
> #Matthew

 

Ronan’s very aware that he probably ought to tell Gansey about this. Especially because Blue/Jane knows about Adam, especially because Adam will probably  tell her more when he gets home. It’s just that he isn’t entirely sure how Gansey will react. What the likelihood is of Gansey voicing concern about Ronan getting back into dating so soon after an almost relapse, or Gansey being protective over Adam, or over Ronan. He’s not sure which would be worse.

 

He texts Blue straight after meeting Adam. He sits in his car and tries his best not to explode. Knows that Adam will just be going straight back to work now, will probably feel perfectly calm about the whole thing.

 

<(Maggot/asshole#4)

Monday  
4:12 (pm)

-Don’t tell Gansey about the Adam thing. I’m going to.  

 

4:15

<Obviously, asshead. Are you gonna meet him?

<Adam, I mean.

 

4:17

-It’s not actually any of your business.

-Yeah I did.

-God.

 

4:18

<I take it your swearing is a good thing here.

 

4:20

-No one told me Parrish was hot as fuck.

 

4:21

<Would you have come out with us if we had?

 

4:22

-Yeah nah probably not.

4:30

-Did you know that Adam was texting some random?

 

4:35

<God no. He’s like a ball of secrets that one.

  


-

 

~(Adam-asshole#5-thefuck)

4:35

-Apparently you’re a ball of secrets.

 

4:37

~Says who? Blue?

 

4:37

-Yes.

 

4:38

~I thought we were going to do the get to know each other through each other rather than onlookers? ;)

 

4:38

-Did you just send me a fucking emoticon? And yes, I wasn’t actually digging for information, she simply volunteered that.

 

4:39

~You realise I can see you in your car outside the cafe still, right?

 

4:40

-Fuck right off oh my God.

 

4:40

~I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone leave our parking lot so quickly. Or so angrily. Impressive.

 

-

 

Gansey is home when he gets in, is rustling around in the kitchen emptying out shopping bags and humming some sort of tune that Ronan’s pretty sure is meant to be melancholy but which Gansey’s somehow made cheerful

 

“Oh, Ronan,” he says as Ronan comes in, “I was just about to text. I got milk like you asked, and did a grocery shop at the same time. I was thinking of cooking lasagna for dinner, what do you think?”

 

“I’d eat that,” Ronan replies, thumps down onto one of the counter stools.

 

“We actually had plenty of milk still,” Gansey observes, opening the fridge door so Ronan can see the two full bottles and the half empty one. “Are you planning on making something milk based?”

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, snorts, “no. That was a badly thought out diversion tactic.”

 

Gansey’s eyes narrow. “Diversion tactic for what?” he asks, “Did you send Noah into my class to steal my pencil case again?”

 

“I don’t pull the same prank twice,” Ronan says with a grin, “no. It was just that I’d changed my mind about what I was going to tell you and I didn’t want you to worry if I just hung up.”

 

Gansey’s eyes narrow further. “I see,” he says, “and do I get to hear what it was now? Or is that it?”

 

“God,” Ronan sighs, leans over until his forehead rests on the counter, “yeah I’m going to tell you, but you have to promise not to make a big deal out of it.”  

 

“I’m not sure I want to make that promise,” he says.

 

“Well,” Ronan says to the countertop, “then I guess you’re not hearing what it was.”

 

Gansey sighs noisily, rustles around with the bags for a moment longer, then says, “Ok. I won’t make a big deal of it.”

 

“I met my cat lord,” Ronan says promptly, words spilling out of his mouth almost without his decision, “today. At Poldma’s. He works there.”

 

“I- you- he works there?” Gansey stutters, he sounds pleased but mostly shocked, “He probably knows Jane, then!”

 

“He does,” Ronan confirms, “and you.”

 

“What?” Gansey asks, “No I don’t think so, the only person I know there is Parrish, and I suppose Persephone now, but I’m assuming you’re not talking about her-”

 

“Fucks sake, Gans,” Ronan groans, “Parrish.”

 

“Parrish?”

 

“Adam Parrish. Yes. It’s him. How the hell did you not realise this? His cat is called Jane Austen!”

 

Gansey still sounds entirely bewildered, “She is? Everyone calls her… snuggle butt, I don’t think I was ever properly introduced.”

 

Ronan lifts his head off the counter, “Speaking of introductions,” he says sharply, “Blue.”

 

If it were possible for Gansey too look any more confused, he would have.

 

“What about her?” he asks.

 

“You never told me her name was Blue!” Ronan says, “Adam told me. You realise how much sooner this would have been cleared up if I’d known Blue’s name was Blue?”

 

Gansey gapes at him.

 

“I’ve talked about you a lot to him,” he protests, “and about him to you - how -?”

 

“You never said his name was Adam,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, “it’s not like we swapped last names. We didn’t even actually swap first names. He only told me his after his car accident.”

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, frowns suddenly, “oh, Ronan, was that - was that your emergency that morning?”

 

“Yes,” Ronan bites out, “freaked me the fuck out.”

 

“Well,” Gansey says. He looks like he needs to sit down. “This is indeed a twist of the fates.”

 

“He asked me on a date,” Ronan adds. Gansey shifts around the counter to drop onto a stool.

 

“Oh,” he says a little weakly, “and you said?”

 

“I said yes, of course,” Ronan says, aware that he’s not sounding so smug anymore, “he’s fucking hot.”

 

“And funny,’ Gansey adds.

 

“And funny,” Ronan agrees, “and completely out of my league. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

 

Gansey looks at him shrewdly. He appears to be in the process of screwing his head back on. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says kindly.

 

“I’m not,” Ronan says, huffs loudly and drops his head back against the counter, “you know him. You know me. He’s way too good for me, he’s a law student, he works all the time, he looks… fucking clean and put together and sensible-”

 

“And?” Gansey interrupts, “None of that takes him out of your league. I do know him, and he’s not just clever, he’s kind and fun-”

 

Ronan interrupts now, “It takes him out of my league,” he says loudly, “because I’m a drop out. I’m an unemployed drop out. The only thing I have going for me is my money, and I somehow have a feeling he wouldn’t be interested in that.”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey sighs, begins to say something, cuts himself off, and then begins again, “obviously Adam sees something worthwhile in you. I know you don’t want to listen to me talking you up, but maybe trust that Adam’s clever enough to know what he wants?”

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grunts, “it’s only one date. So if he does get a closer look at me and decides he’d better bail, it’s not like it’ll put me out too much.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says firmly, “you are being way too cynical about this. Stop it. Stop talking yourself down and help me make lasagne.”

 

“Ugh,” Ronan groans, “I’m not cutting the onions.”

 

“I know you’re not,” Gansey says, rolls his eyes as he hops off of his stool.

 

-

 

It’s not until they’re eating the lasagne does Gansey bring it up again.

 

“Stop pushing the food around and actually eat it, Ronan,” he says, kicks Ronan’s foot, “and tell me when you and Parrish are going on this date?”

 

“God, you mother hen,” Ronan snipes, puts an overly large forkful in his mouth, and then replies through it, spraying Gansey with tomato, “we haven’t decided.”

 

“Disgusting,” Gansey announces, uses his shirt to wipe his face, “any ideas what you’ll do?”

 

Ronan chew thoughtfully, swallows, then shrugs and says; “I was thinking we could go to a cafe and then just text each other the whole time.”

 

“Ronan.”

 

“No I haven’t got any idea. What the hell do you do on a date? All my experience in fucking flirting is in drag racing and Adam doesn’t have a car right now.”

 

Gansey looks disgruntled. “Ok,” he says, “what about a movie?”

 

“Right,” Ronan says, “and spend a couple of hours not talking to each other while being subjected to some terrible heteronormative film.”

 

“Go out for dinner?”

 

“Boring.”

 

“Walk in the park?”

 

“What are you, 70?”

 

“The museum?”

 

“80?”

 

“God, I don’t know, Ronan,” Gansey sighs.

 

“Well that’s fine,” Ronan sighs back, “because I didn’t actually ask for your help.”

 

“It’s obvious you need it though,” Gansey retorts.

 

“Ok so maybe,” Ronan rolls his eyes, “not yet.”

 

“Fine,” Gansey says.

 

They eat in silence for a few moments, comfortable silence, and then Gansey uncomfortably breaks it.

 

“Have you thought more about getting back into therapy?”

 

“No,” Ronan says stiffly.

 

“I did a bit of research for you,” Gansey says, “looked up some good therapists.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan mumbles, pushes the pasta round his plate.

 

“I can send you the links to their profiles, if you’d like?”

 

“Sure,” Ronan says noncommittally, “I might have a look at them.”

 

“If you want a second opinion on any of them,” Gansey says, “Jane knows quite a lot, you know her mum and like, half her aunt are therapists.”

 

“Crazy hippy ones,” Ronan says, “herbal teas and all that shit.”

 

“They’ve been proven to work,” Gansey says sternly, “as much as Maura scares me, I think she’s a wonderful therapist.”

 

“Have you-” Gansey starts, “have you talked at all about this to Adam?”

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, sighs, “no,” he repeats, “kind of. A bit. He knows about dad. Well, he knows dad’s dead.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says carefully, “just,” he bites his lip, “Adam doesn’t talk much about himself, but he’s had a pretty rough time of it too it sounds like.”

 

“Great,” Ronan says, “I’ll add this onto the reasons why him dating me is probably a bad move for him.”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Gansey says.

 

-

 

10:13

~Not to sound overeager, but when are you free to go on this date?

 

10:13

-Jane? Jane Austen, my love? Is that you?

 

10:15

~Ok, asshole.

 

10:17

-As I’ve said before, I have no life. So I’m free basically whenever the fuck you are.

 

10:18

~Friday? I’m not working that evening.

 

10:19

-I guess. I’ll check my diary.

 

10:21

~So, is there anything in particular you wanna do?

 

10:22

-Please don’t make me reveal how shitty I am at dating by making me suggest date ideas.

 

10:25

~I would say you could just come over and stroke my cat, but I think that’s probably too much for a first date.

 

10:26

-You fucking tease.

 

10:27

~There’s an art gallery opening at 7:30 near the university, wanna go to that and then grab dinner after or something?

 

10:30

-Now I’m really glad I didn’t try making any suggestions.

 

10:31

~That’ a yes, then?

 

10:32

-Ye

 

10:34

~Do you find it awkward texting me now we’ve actually met?

 

10:34

-No.

-A little.

 

10:35

~Would you find it easier if I called you Marius?

 

10:36

-What.

 

10:36

~How about Devin?

 

10:37

-God. Stop. No.

-I’ll get used to it.

-I’m just having trouble sticking your face to the texts.

 

10:38

~Is this because you always just imagined Jane Austen as my face?

 

10:40

-How did you know??

 

-

 

The problem with Friday, was that it was still ages away, while also managing to be just fucking round the corner. It was one thing to meet Adam face to face - not that that hadn’t been terrifying - and another to meet him specifically for a date. He hadn’t even started trying to convince himself that there was even a slight possibility of Adam not being straight before Adam had asked him out. It felt like far too much good luck. It felt like something was definitely going to go wrong, and really, Ronan wanted to find out if he was right or not sooner rather than later.

 

It’s so stupid. His life has been moving at the speed of an injured snail for weeks, for months, but now friday was too soon, too quick. It felt like the beginning of a landslide, like he was going to have to suddenly pick up his shell and fucking hightail it. If he thinks about it too hard it’s all too overwhelming.

Instead of thinking about it, he grudgingly picks through the links of therapists Gansey’s looked at for him.

 

“Gansey,” he yells out, through his door. It’s past midnight, but he knows Gansey’s still awake. He can hear the faint murmur of Gansey’s voice still - probably talking to Blue on the phone. He would just keep yelling, but he knows how much Gansey hates having a conversation from different rooms, so he waits for Gansey to come to him. He does, his phone still pressed to his ear. He leans against the door frame, raises his eyebrows at Ronan.

 

“Why the fuck have you added some of the maggot’s aunt’s in this list?” he asks, “Come on.”

 

“Because they’re good,” Gansey replies, covering the bottom half of the phone with his hand, “I only added Calla, I thought she’d be up your alley.”

 

“Herbal tea is not up any of my alleys.”

 

“No,” Gansey rolls his eyes, “she swears just as much as you. Thought you might enjoy that in a therapist.”

 

“Whatever,” Ronan rolls his eyes right back, “go back to your soppy conversation.”

 

“Gladly,” Gansey sighs, “goodnight, Ronan.”

 

-

 

Tuesday

6:03 (am)

-You should bring J.A with you on our date to chaperone.

 

6:12

~Don’t you think that’d be awkward bringing your fiance to third wheel us?

~You’re awake early.

 

6:12

-She might be into it.

-I haven’t slept.

 

6:13

~Please. I don’t want to even think about my cat like that.

~What?? Why haven’t you slept?

 

6:13

-Fair.

-Couldn’t sleep. Not a big deal.

 

6:14

~Is something wrong?

 

6:15

-I just said it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing’s wrong.

 

6:15

~Ok. It’s just I tend to only pull all-nighters when I’m stressed as fuck.

 

6:17

-Sometimes I can’t sleep. It’s a thing.

 

6:17

~Insomnia?

 

6:18

-I guess.

-Why are you up?

 

6:19

~Early start at the mechanics today. I’m getting a shift in before class.

 

6:20

-Oh, am I interrupting?

 

6:20

~Nah I’m on the bus. In 10mins I won’t be able to chat though.

 

6:21

-I want to see you before Friday.

 

6:22

~Am I that irresistible?

 

6:22

-I overestimated how patient I could be.

 

6:23

~Come round with Gansey tonight. I’ll be home after 7.30.

 

6:23

-I thought we decided it was too risque for me to come round to yours?

 

6:23

~Only if you stroke my cat.

 

6:23

-I’m going to stroke your cat.

 

6:24

~Gasp!

~So you will come tonight?

 

6:25

-Depends. Is Gansey coming over specifically to talk geek stuff?

 

6:25

~We’re watching a film and eating popcorn.

 

6:26

-Did Noah pick the film?

 

6:26

~...Yes?

 

6:27

-It’s going to be awful. Ok. I’ll come.

 

6:28

~Glad you’re excited.

 

6:28

-I’m excited because J.A will be chaperoning us.

 

6:29

~Along with all our flatmates.

 

6:29

-God.

 

6:29

~I have to go. Text me later x

 

-

  


It really is too early to go barging into Gansey’s room, but it’s not like Gansey ever let early hours stop him from invading Ronan’s personal space, so he does it anyway. Gansey sits straight up as Ronan crashes the door open.

 

“I’m not a robot!” he protests nonsensically.

 

“Ok,” Ronan agrees easily, drops down onto the over large bed next to him, “what time are you going to Adam’s tonight?”

 

“Um,” Gansey says, blinks at Ronan for a few seconds as he gets his bearings, “I was going to go after class, spend some time with Blue before Adam get home. Why?”

 

“I’m coming to movie night,” Ronan says, Gansey’s face brightens considerably, and Ronan adds on, “don’t get all excited on me.”

 

“You know,” Gansey says, lying back down against his pillows, “if you had just come met Parrish with me the first time I invited you, we could have been doing this the whole time.”

 

“I probably wouldn’t have liked him if I met him while he was trying to impress you,” Ronan retorts, and Gansey shrugs.

 

“Maybe if you had been there he wouldn’t have bothered trying to impress me. Now either go away or shut up, I don’t have class until 8:30 and I want to sleep more.”

 

“Not like I want to talk to you more anyway,” Ronan sniffs, but doesn’t leave, just shuffles around on the bed ignoring Gansey’s insincere protests, and lies down by Gansey’s side.

He texts Noah.

 

+(Asshole#4GlitterBabyNoahstopchangingmycontacts)

6:42

-What movie are we watching tonight?

 

6:50

+Oh my God. Are you finally coming? I’m so offended that I’ve been trying to get you over for movies for weeks but as soon as a hot boy invites you you’re in. Is that it? Am I just not cute enough for you, Lynch? Is it the body glitter? Am I too skinny for you? Tell me.

 

6:51

-I think it’s your movie taste I object to, generally.

 

6:52

+Rude.

\+ We’re watching The Fall. You’ll like it. Blood, strong silent men, explosions. Lee Pace. Right up your alley, bb.

 

6:53

-The last time you tried to sell me on a movie because it had hot men in it, it was Twilight.

 

6:54

+Ok but I was obviously joking then. You actually will like this one.

+Plus you admitted that the werewolves were kinda hot.

 

6:55

-I said the werewolves were hotter than the vampires. It wasn’t a compliment.

 

6:56

+Details. Unnecessary.

+Also another thing I’m offended about.

+You never told me you were texting a cute boy!?!?!

 

6:57

-I had no idea who he was, I didn’t know he was cute.

 

6:57

+You could have told me when you met him!

+Do you have any idea how exciting this would have been for me if I’d known you had a secret text love affair????

 

6:58

-It wasn’t a love affair, you freaking dork, we were just chatting.

 

6:58

+Just chatting. Sure, sure, sure.

+Who sent the first dick pic????

 

6:59

-Me

 

6:59

+OH MY FUCKING GOD RONAN I WAS JOKING WHAT THEF UCK

 

6:59

-It was a drawing! A joke drawing! It wasn’t a come on!

 

7:00

+...Sure

+Did it turn into a come on?

 

7:01

-God. No.

-Get your head out of the gutter.

-We’ve not even held hands.

-I’m not going to send dick pics.

 

7:02

+Will you send dick pics after you hold hands?

 

7:02

-Oh my GOD Noah.

 

7:03

+That’s not a no…

 

7:04

-That’s a ‘if you keep talking like this I’m gonna shove your phone down your throat’

 

7:04

+Rude

+I’m just trying to be helpful

+This is your first date in how long?

+22 years?

 

7:05

-I don’t think I had any dates while I was in my mother’s womb, funnily enough.

 

7:06

+That was pretty funny, wasn’t it?

 

7:07

-God you’re the worst. I dunno why I’m friends with you

 

7:08

+Because I shave your head for you sometimes? Because I make really nice hot chocolate? Because I’m really funny? Because I let you borrow my glitter? Because I stopped you from having to be a third wheel when Dick and Jane got together? Because you’re secretly in love with me and you’ve accepted that friendship is the only way you’ll get to be with me?

 

7:08

-...

 

7:09

+I’m taking that as an admission to all of the above.

+I’m really happy you’re going on that date with Adam, btw. I think it’ll be good for both of you.

 

7:10

-Or it could be awful for both of us.

 

7:11

+Yeah or that. Are you guys gonna hold hands under the blankets tonight?

 

7:12

-Fuck off

 

-

 

Gansey is more excited about the prospect of Ronan coming over for movie night than he had been when he’d first woken up. This is gratifying, but also extremely annoying. He had gotten up, had a shower, put the coffee on and the whirled around on Ronan who had followed him into the kitchen when he heard the coffee grinder.

 

“You’re coming tonight!” he exclaims loudly.

 

“Jesus, Mary,” Ronan snaps, startled by the suddenness, “you’ve not even had your coffee yet.”

 

“Adam invited you?”

 

“Yup,” Ronan says, fiddles with the fruit bowl. It has wooden apples and wax pears, and currently no real fruit.

 

“And you said yes?”

 

“I guess,” Ronan snorts, “I’m coming, aren’t I?”

 

“This is an extremely surprising turn of events,” Gansey says, “I didn’t expect you to actually begin joining in on social activities just because you want to spend time with Adam.”

 

“Well,” Ronan says, “what can I say. I’m an enigma.”

 

“You’re smitten,” Gansey teases, and Ronan throws a wooden apple in his direction.

 

“I barely know him,” he says, tosses another apple in the air and catches it one handed, “I don’t think I can be smitten.”

 

“Falling in love doesn’t always take as long as you think,” Gansey says dreamily, turning to get the milk out of the fridge, “you know, when I first saw Jane, I just… I knew-”

 

“When you first saw Jane,” Ronan says, voice flat, “you managed to insult her within 10 seconds. She hated you for weeks.”

 

“Well alright,” Gansey concedes, “maybe it wasn’t all love at first, but I knew it was something,”

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grumbles, “your life fits the fairy tale, dumb rom-com route.”

 

“And meeting someone from a lost cat poster doesn’t sound like it’s from a rom-com?” Gansey shoots back, fetches two mugs from the cupboard, “Look, Ronan-”

 

“If you’re about to say something wishy-washy and hopeful,” Ronan says, “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“I know you’re scared of getting in too deep too quick,” Gansey says firmly, “of getting your heart broken-”

 

“Have to have a heart,” Ronan grumbles.

 

Gansey continues, sternly, “-but you can’t go into a relationship holding onto all of that so tightly, otherwise you’ll doom it all from the start.”

 

“At least I’m used to things going tits up,” Ronan points out caustically, and Gansey sighs, thumps the mugs down on the counter in front of Ronan and turns to fetch the coffee jug.

 

“It’s not fair on Adam,” Gansey says, “to agree to go on a date with him, to let him think you want to try this out and then for you to just belly flop purposefully on it.”

 

“I do want to try this out!” Ronan protests, “I’m not going to purposefully fuck it up, Gans, I’m just saying that things with me tend to-”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey sighs, pours the coffee. Ronan scowls.

 

“Fine,” he says, “I’ll try and adopt a happier outlook or whatever.”

 

“Can’t hurt,” Gansey smiles, pushes his coffee towards him.

 

-

 

It probably could fucking hurt.

 

-

 

3:42 (pm)

<You’re coming to movie night????

 

3:44

-Is that fucking allowed?

 

3:46

<Only if you bring chips and booze.

 

3:47

-I’ll bring booze.

 

3:49

<I want chicken flavoured chips.

 

3:52

-So go to the fucking store, maggot.

 

3:54

<I’ll purposefully sit in between you and Adam if you don’t bring me chicken chips with your booze, snake.

 

4:00

-Any particular brand?

 

4:01

<I’m easy.

 

4:03

-I’m aware. Why else would you be with Dick?

 

4:05

<I know you’re seen Dick’s dick. That should answer your quetsion.

 

4:09

-Funny. I was talking to Dick this morning and he was saying something soppy about love.

 

4:10

<Gross.

 

4:11

-That’s more like it.

 

4:12

<I love him so much.

 

4:13

-Can you not marr my phone with this shit???

 

4:15

<I love him so much I actually don’t even mind his boat shoes all the time. Sometimes he walks into the room and my belly does stupid little flips of happiness.

 

4:16

-Stop.

-I’ll turn my phone off.

 

4:17

<And risk missing a text from Adam? I think not.

 

4:18

-You’re cruel.

 

4:19

<And yet you like me.

 

4:20

-I put up with you. For Dick’s sake.

 

4:21

<Because you love him too.

 

4:35

-Obviously.

 

-

 

5:14

-Why will you be getting back so late?

 

5:18

~Since when is 7.30 late?

 

5:18

-since I got bored of sitting around in my room.

 

5:19

~I have work until 6:45 at the bookstore.

 

5:20

-I could come pick you up. Save you from public transport.

 

5:21

~It’d be a bit out of your way.

 

5:21

-I like driving.

 

5:36

~Ok

 

5:36

-Is that an ok so you don’t hurt my feelings or an ok because you want a ride?

 

5:38

~Can’t it be both?

 

5:38

-Fair.

 

5:39

~Why are you sitting around?

 

5:42

-Because I can’t be assed getting up.

 

5:43

~You get to meet your fiance tonight.

 

5:44

-I’m very excited about it too. Nervous. Should I wear a suit?

 

5:47

~She does like getting hair all over nice clothes, so I mean, you could.

 

5:48

-What if she doesn’t like me?

 

5:50

~Then you’ll just have to find someone else to marry.

~I think she’ll like you, though.

 

5:52

-I’m worried I won’t be hairy enough for her, really.

 

5:55

~Oh yeah, that is a valid concern. Damn Lynch.

 

5:57

-If my heart is broken tonight, can I sob dramatically on your shoulder?

 

5:59

~I guess I could allow that.

~I have to get back to work now, I’ll text you my work address and when to pick me up soon, yeah?

 

6:01

-ok.

 

-

 

6:14

+If you’re bringing chicken chips can you bring salt’n’vinegar as well?

 

6:16

-No one fucking likes salt and vinegar.

-Does anyone in your house know how to go to the shops?

 

6:17

+Ronan.

+You like salt and vinegar chips.

 

6:18

-Oh yeah.

 

6:19

+Also pretzels?

 

6:20

-You have a car. You go buy your snacks.

 

6:21

+but you’ve gotta go out to come here anywaaaaaaay

+Plus Adam really likes pretzels.

 

6:22

-I wish you guys would stop using Adam as a bartering tool.

-especially because it works and it makes me feel like a fucker.

 

6:23

+Sorry.

+Will you get the snacks anyway?

 

6:24

-Fuck you. Obviously I will.

 

6:25

+You’re a doll xxx

 

6:26

-Don’t push it.

 

-

 

He drops in by the supermarket on the way to the bookstore. It’s got to be a quick trip so he can pick Adam up at the end of his shift, and he almost makes it in and out in 5 minutes, but gets caught at the last hurdle.

Kavinsky gets in line behind him.

It’s obviously not an accident. He’s only got a pack of gum and a bottle of beer, he must have seen Ronan and just abandoned whatever he had been planning on buying. Not too long ago, Ronan would have been almost flattered by this. Now it makes him feel nauseous all the way to his fingernails.

 

“Fancy bumping into you here,” Kavinsky smiles, all greasy and self-aware.

 

Ronan ignores him as well as he can while Kavinsky’s pressing his almost entirely empty trolley into Ronan’s back.

 

“You left real quick when I saw you the other day,” Kavinsky continues, “almost felt hurt. You know what hurt more though, baby?”

 

Ronan continues to ignore him. His knees are not going to fucking buckle. They aren’t.

 

“Gotta call from the police, oh, maybe an hour after you fucking jumped out of my lap” Kavinsky says, voice all a drawl, “they seemed to be under the impression I was involved in some kinda unfortunate accident.

 

“Oh dear,” Ronan says flatly, stumbles slightly as Kavinsky jerks the trolley.

 

“Oh dear in-fucking-deed,” Kavinsky hisses, “you know how fuckin’ annoying having to pay off police is?”

 

“Would’ve thought you’d be used to it,” Ronan replies. Knows he shouldn’t be replying. The fucking guy in front of him has too much fucking shopping. Who needs that many cans? Why the hell did he decide to get so much produce and then not even fucking remember to label them. He’s taking forever. Ronan doesn’t have forever. Ronan needs to get out of here and away from Kavinsky as soon as possible.

He could just fucking abandon the snacks and booze, but then Blue would ask why, and Gansey would probably get on high alert, and Ronan was not fucking telling them that Kavinsky freaked him out so much he just ditched his shopping.

 

“Never thought of you as a snitch,” Kavinsky says, “you know what they say about snitches?”

 

“That you leave them alone?” Ronan tries, dripping sarcasm.

 

“Nah,” Kavinsky drops his chin to his chest and chuckles darkly, “pretty sure it has something to do with stitches.”

 

“Do I look fucking bothered?” Ronan says.

 

“Actually,” Kavinsky says, his amusement is still heavy in his voice, “you kind of do.”

 

There’s still half the conveyer full of that stupid guys shopping to go. Why the hell didn’t Ronan choose a different check out. This is the fucking worst. God. God. God please.

 

“In fact,” Kavinsky continues, “you’re looking real bothered. Am I bothering you babe? Am I scarin’ you?”

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan hisses over his shoulder, “as if.”

 

“Is it ‘cos,” Kavinsky grins, “you’re worried daddy’ll find out? You feelin’ guilty about our almost rendezvous? Or is ‘cos you know what I’ve done to other guys who’ve fucked me over?”

 

“It’s because,” Ronan grinds out, “your voice sounds like a fucking sick cat.”

 

“Oh,” Kavinsky laughs again. Fucking stop laughing. “You are scared, aren’t ya? You worried what I’ll do to ya?”

 

“No,” Ronan says firmly.

 

“You should be,” Kavinsky says, “I know all your cracks, Lynch, I know how to get into them too.”

 

Ronan, full of volcano like anxiety and a pressing urge to act like he does not in fact give a fuck, responds stupidly. “I’d like to see you try,” he says arrogantly.

 

“I’m so glad,” Kavinsky says, “because you will get to see. Unless-”  he cuts himself off to examine his quite disgusting nails. Doesn’t continue. It’s obvious he’s waiting for Ronan to ask.

 

“Unless what,” Ronan snaps, can’t stop himself.

 

Kavinsky smirks. “Unless you come with me tonight, doesn’t look like whatever you’re gonna be doing will be any fun anyway. Come with me and I’ll consider letting you off easy, yeah? Mates rates.”

 

“Not your mate,” Ronan mutters, “not happening.”

 

Kavinsky sighs heavily, “Ok, big boy,” he says genially, “let’s try it your way for a bit then. You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”

 

With that, he pulls his trolley out from behind Ronan, elbows his way out of the queue, and disappears into the aisles. Ronan expected to feel relieved. He didn’t. The man in front of him is finally finished.

 

-

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Ronan mumbles as Adam climbs into the front seat. He had been standing, leaning against a street lamp outside the book shop when Ronan had arrived at 5 past. Standing in his casual clothing, not hidden by cafe clothes and the general strange vibe of Poldma’s, his broken arm stands out starkly, sticking out of his rolled up hoodie sleeves.

 

“That’s fine,” Adam says casually, “we’re still gonna get home a lot sooner than if I’d taken the bus.”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts, pulls back onto the road.

 

“You good?” Adam asks after a few moments of quite stilted silence.

 

“Sure,” Ronan grunts.

 

“Ok,” Adam shrugs, fiddles with the strap of his seat belt, “I like your car, you got it second hand?”

 

“It was my father’s,” Ronan says, doing his hardest not to grunt again. He needs to sound at least vaguely human even if he doesn’t feel it.

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “I-”

 

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, “you don’t need to tiptoe around it just because he’s dead. If I was so sensitive about my dead father’s car I wouldn’t drive it everywhere.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “ok.”

 

Ronan exhales. Doesn’t breathe in for half a block. Inhales and says, “Sorry.”

 

Adam shrugs.

 

“Sorry,” Ronan says again, “I just - I had a really - shit happened.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says again.

 

“And it’s no excuse,” Ronan continues, “for being rude. I know that. So I am sorry. I - yeah.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, clears his throat, “look - this is new to both of us, so it’s gonna take a bit of time for, like, me to read your moods, or-”

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, discomfort and offense pressing against the back of his throat, “so I have moods, now?”

 

Adam stares at him.

 

“Well,” he says, “apparently you do, but that wasn’t what I meant. I meant moods in general. God.”

 

Ronan knows he’s flushing. Knows his hands are shaking. Knows he’s fucking this up already. He can just picture Gansey’s disappointment. He swallows.

 

“So,” Adam says, “let’s just be real fuckin’ blunt with each other, because right now, with you so obviously fuckin’ pissed off about somethin’ we’re not gonna get anywhere. Tell me what’s wrong, or tell me it’s not my business and ask me to let you fume in fuckin’ peace.”

 

Ok.

Ok.

Ok.

 

Ronan inhales. Exhales. Holds his breath for 5-6-7 seconds.

 

“Someone who fucked me over, really badly, caught me at the supermarket,” he says stiffly, “tried to - talk - nah - to threaten me. I’m apparently not dealing with that very well.”

 

“The fuck?” Adam says, “Someone threatened you? We should go to the police, Ronan -”

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, clears his throat, “no,” he says again, softer, “I - God, Adam, the police and I don’t have a great track record, I don’t wanna go in there when I don’t even have any fucking proof - and - and - Jesus Christ, I’m not doing that.”

 

Adam’s silent for a short while. He’s probably judging about the police thing.

 

“Ok,” he says, “you sure you wanna come round tonight?”

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “I don’t have to if you think I’m gonna be a downer.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Adam sighs, “fucks sake, Lynch. I was just worried it’ll be too much right now.”

 

“I’d prefer too much to being alone,” Ronan says with far too much honesty, “so if you still fucking want me along, I’m coming.”

 

“I want you along,” Adam says bluntly, “God knows why I do, but I do.”

 

“Fine,” Ronan says.

 

“Fine,” Adam says, “what snacks did you get?”

 

-

 

By the time they make it to the flat, Gansey, Jane/Blue, and Noah have already shifted the couches into movie watching formation. Ronan hasn’t been round here that often, and barely at all recently, so he supposes that they might always have the couches positioned like this, all clustered together round a blank wall, the coffee table with a video projector hooked up to a laptop on it, but it seemed unlikely.

 

“Ah!” Noah crows as Ronan enters the lounge - alone because Adam’s ducked into his room to drop his bag off and strip out of his work clothes - the snacks arrive!”

 

“Gee,” Ronan grumbles, “nice to see you too, shithead.”

 

“Aw,” Blue/Jane says, “as sweet as ever. Hand them over and I’ll chuck ‘em in some bowls.”

 

“Fancy as shit,” Noah says. He’s sprawled out across an entire couch, a bag of jellybeans in one hand, a bottle of hard cider in the other. Gansey is sitting on the couch next to him, phone held up to his face, squinting, glasses in his hair.

 

“Put your fucking glasses on, Dick,” Ronan snaps as he hands the bags over to Blue. As she leaves, he steps over the back of the couch and settles down on the cushions next to Gansey, presses his shoulder hard up against Gansey’s side until Gansey pulls his glasses onto his face, lowers his phone, and looks at him.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, Noah is very still on the other couch, “what happened?”

 

“I shouldn’t fucking be here,” Ronan mumbles, his voice is suddenly refusing to rise above a whisper without cracking, “It was a mistake. I want you to take me home.”

 

“Hey,” Gansey says again, panic flashing not quite subtly across his face as he turns on the couch to reach out to Ronan, to cup the back of his head gently, “what happened, Ro?”

 

Ronan had planned to not tell Gansey about any of this, or at least not to tell him about it tonight. If he was going to tell him about it, he may as well have just fucking left his shopping behind, then at least he wouldn’t have been late for Adam. He would probably have been a shit still, but at least he wouldn’t have been late. His eyes are fucking burning.

 

“Ro,” Gansey says again, “we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want, I can take you home, that’s fine, you want that?”

 

He’s fucking actually crying. What the shitting fuck. The fucking shit. Fuck this shit. He presses his hands - curled into fists - against his eyes, digs his knuckles in.

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “ok, c’mon, let’s go to the bathroom, yeah? C’mon.”

 

He gets up, tugging gently at Ronan’s shoulders until Ronan unfolds from the couch and allows himself to be pulled to standing. He can’t see Noah through the blur, but knows what his face will look like. He’s glad he can’t see it right now. He hopes Adam takes fucking forever to change. The bathroom, thankfully, is in the opposite direction to Adam’s room.

Once he’s been steered inside by Gansey, he perches on the closed toilet lid and bends over his legs, presses his face to his knees, grips his calves. He hears Gansey close the door, then cross the room to kneel in front of him.

 

“Ro,” he says in a low voice, “you’re ok. You’re fine. Breathe in, you’re doing fine. I’m here with you.”

 

“Fuck,” Ronan gets out hoarsely, his fingers feel numb, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” Gansey agrees softly, “fuck. You’re good though, you’re good, Ro, you’re fine.”

 

“I - K,” Ronan mumbles to his knees, “fucking - the other day,” he says, sniffs hard, “he was the one who smashed Adam’s car,” he says, has to exhale hard, “I called the fucking cops on him and he knows it was me. He’s - he’s mad.”

 

It’s obviously a lot to take in because Gansey’s quiet for a long moment and then he just swears vehemently.

 

“What did he say to you, Ronan?” he asks firmly, “Did he threaten you?”

 

“Ugh,” Ronan grunts, “yes. But, Gans, I can’t-”

 

“We need to go to the police, this time,” Gansey says urgently, just like Ronan fucking knew he would, “I don’t want to let him get away with this.”

 

“Fuck, Gans,” Ronan says, “he didn’t say anything that the police will care about. I have nothing-”

 

“I can make them care,” Gansey says firmly, “you know I can.”

 

“I’m not,” Ronan says, not quite as firmly because his voice is still cracking, but he tries, “using your fucking politician parents’ string pulling to fix this shit.”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, fraught.

 

“No,” Ronan replies, “no. I won’t.”

 

He half expects Gansey to keep fighting back, but instead Gansey just sighs, shuffles closer on his knees so he can rest his head on Ronan’s knee next to his head, and reaches up to cup the back of his neck.

 

“Ok,” he says quietly, “tell me what you want right now, ok? Want to go home?”

 

Yes. Really fucking yes. So much. Fuck.

 

“No,” Ronan mumbles, “I - I’m here. May as well watch this stupid ass movie and eat these dumb snacks I was blackmailed into getting.”

 

“You sure?” Gansey presses, “There’s no shame in going home if that’s what you want.”

 

“I want to stay,” Ronan says, “just. Let me, let me get my fucking face in order before we go out.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “want me to get you a face cloth?”

 

“No,” Ronan says immediately, Gansey stills, “no,” he says again, “just fucking stay here for a minute. Ok? Can you just - can you-”

 

“Yep,” Gansey says, “I can.”

 

-

 

They probably don’t take as long as Ronan feels like they’re taking, but seeing as Ronan feels like he’s been in the bathroom crying into Gansey’s hair for a millenia, that’s not really that hard. It’s long enough though that Noah looks nervous and twitchy on his couch, and that Blue, scrunched up on the couch next to Noah, has mowed through half a bowl of the chicken chips, and that Adam is sitting awkwardly on a separate couch, chewing his nails. A cat, Jane Austen herself, Ronan assumes, is sitting elegantly by his knee, licking her paw.

 

“Shall we get started?” Gansey says brightly, breaking into the uncomfortable silence in the room, “I’ve been looking forward to this movie all day, Jane, is there room on the couch with you guys?”

 

“Yeah,” Jane/Blue says, shoves at Noah until Noah shuffles further up the couch.

 

“Ok,” Noah says, his voice a brave attempt at normalcy, “let’s get this thing going, tissues are located on the floor, this movie invokes a lot of crying. No shame in it guys, I’m going to cry a lot, you all may as well too.”

 

Ronan sits down next to Jane Austen.

 

“Hey,” Adam says cautiously, clears his throat, then smiles, “is she as lovely as you were hoping?”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Ronan mumbles, holds his hand out for her to examine, and then, apparently, to lick, “she’s great.”

 

“You’re a lucky guy,” Adam teases, “she’s a real catch.”

 

Jane Austen appears to approve of both Ronan’s scent and taste, because she stretches, and then climbs into his lap to curl up.

 

“Oh good,” Ronan says, “she likes me. We don’t have to call off the engagement.”

 

“Would you really call it off just because your introduction got off on a rocky start?” Adam asks, his smile appears almost forced.

 

“No,” Ronan says, aware this question wasn’t really about the cat, “I’m not a quitter.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Adam says, his smile his no longer forced. He reaches out to stroke Jane’s head gently, hand perilously close to Ronan’s on her back, “she’d be sad if you were.”

 

Fuck it, Ronan thinks, he said to be blunt, after all. “I don’t want to make you sad,” Ronan says.

 

Adam raises his eyebrows at him. “Me neither,” he says.

 

“Hey you in the cheap seats!” Noah yells, far too loudly for someone only a few meters away, “Shut your mouths, the movie’s about to start!”

 

Jane Austen meows dolefully.

 

“Oh,” Noah says kindly, “not you snuggle-butt, you be as loud as you like.”

 

-

 

They get about half way through the movie before Ronan realises that Noah is sending him somewhat panicked looks. It’s vaguely irritating because he’s actually really enjoying the movie. It’s beautifully shot, and extremely interesting, sucking him almost enough for him to forget about how stupid he currently feels. Noah is holding his phone up though, nodding at it, and then at Ronan, so he shifts awkwardly, trying not to dislodge Jane from his lap, and pulls his phone from his pocket.

 

8:42 (pm)

+Ronan I completelyf orgot about this but I should have mentioned this earlier and I probably shouldn’t have suggested this movie at all

+it has a suicide attempt in it

+i can make up some excuse and turn it off now if you want

+we could even just skip the whole scene, i can say i don’t like it or don’t want to see it or something

+i’m sorry

+i wasn’t thinking.

 

Great. Now he’s managing to freak people out without doing anything at all. He doesn’t look at Noah as he types a reply.

 

8:46

-I’m not a fucking child, I can deal with it. I’m not going to fucking go off myself because some shitting fictional character tries to. Don’t baby me.

 

He hears Noah grunt angrily from over on his couch.

 

8:46

+Being triggered by something traumatic doesn’t make you a child, and me not wanting to trigger you isn’t me babying you. Can you just let go of your fucking pride for half a second and let me know if you want me to turn this off?

 

He really does not want to. He reads the text. Puts the phone back into his pocket. Ignores Noah’s heated glares.

 

Noah stands up, turns the movie off.

 

“Hey!” Blue says, “what?”

 

“I just remembered,” Noah says firmly, “that I hate this movie.”

 

“What?” Blue says again, “you spent all day telling me how great it is and-”

 

“And now,” Noah interrupts, “I’ve remembered that there’s a part I really, really don’t want to see right now. Awfully sorry. Let’s watch some Black Books.”

 

“Sounds good,” Gansey pipes up, glancing between Noah and Ronan, “I love Black Books.”

 

Blue’s eyes are narrowed, “Ok,” she says, “fine.”

 

Adam doesn’t say anything.

 

Ronan stares angrily at the floor.

 

While Noah fiddles around with opening Netflix up and deciding which episode he wants to watch - something he and Blue have to debate fiercely with Gansey interjecting in the background - Adam shuffles closer to Ronan until their thighs are presses against one another.

 

“Hey,” he says, “you want a drink? Juice? Beer? Tea?”

 

If he says yes, Adam will stand up, and if Adam stands up, Adam’s thigh will no longer be touching his.

 

“No,” he says, “I’m good.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, stands the fuck up anyway, “I’m gonna grab a beer. You sure?”

 

“Fine,” Ronan shrugs, “I’ll have one too.”

 

“I’ll steal the pretzels from Noah while I’m up,” Adam says with a grin, walks off.

 

Tonight is really not going as he had hoped it would. It’s going a lot more like he feared it would, which is both gratifying and painful. He needs to have a word with Gansey about how sometimes his cynicism is the right thing to have and Gansey’s optimism just makes the fall a hell of a lot harder.

 

Adam comes back, two bottles of beer pinched together between finger and thumb a bowl of pretzels hooked on his other 3 fingers. He holds his left arm awkwardly at his side, and sits down, thigh pressing to thigh again, offers Ronan one of the beers.

 

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbles, takes it and uncaps it swiftly, takes a gulp that’s far too large. He can feel Gansey’s eyes on him.

 

“All good,” Adam mumbles back, balances the pretzel bowl on Ronan’s knee beside Jane, wedges his beer between his legs, and uncaps it clumsily, only takes a sip.

 

“Who’re you trying to impress with your drinking tonight?” Ronan asks.

 

“Ms Austen,” Adam replies promptly, “she likes a man who can hold his liquor.”

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “I know your previous experience of me and alcohol says otherwise, but I’m a very good candidate for holding liquor.”

 

“How many drinks did you have that night anyway?” Adam asks, his voice isn’t tinged with judgement, the half smile on his face is real.

 

“I think 8,” Ronan shrugs, “I’m not sure if that counts the shots too, though.”

 

“Fuck,” Adam says, “and you were still standing?”

 

“Well,” Ronan rolls his eyes, “standing is a hard to define term-”

 

“It really isn’t,” Adam snorts.

 

“So maybe I wasn’t very good at the whole vertical thing by that point,” Ronan shrugs, “I could still text,”

 

“I feel like I have to point out that saying you could still text is a stretch.”

 

“You understood me, didn’t you?” Ronan points out, and now Adam rolls his eyes.

 

“Because I’m a genius,” he smiles, “not because your texts were coherent.”

 

“Bully,” Ronan sniffs, takes another gulp of beer.

 

“Feels funny to be called that without the ‘cyber’ in front of it,” Adam retorts, and Ronan grins lopsidedly.

 

“I still can’t fucking believe you kept texting me, you know.”

 

“Neither can I,” Adam grins back at him, “glad I did though.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan says, “you still have plenty of time to regret it.”

 

“Sure,” Adam says, presses his thigh harder against Ronan’s, “have a pretzel.”

 

-

 

It’s probably in the middle of the third episode that he realises that Adam is asleep. He realises this because Adam’s hair kept brushing his shoulder, then all of a sudden, he had Adam’s head on his shoulder. No one else appears to notice, and he’s not entirely sure what the protocol here ought to be. Did this count as a first date, and therefore should he just roll with this? Or does this count as a first date, and therefore he ought to keep boundaries up? Should he wake Adam up? Should he gently push him away? Eventually he simply opts to just stay very, very still. Soon enough, the episode is over and Gansey is looking over at them to ask if they want to watch another, getting half a word out and then immediately lowering his voice.

 

“Oh,” he says, “Adam’s already asleep?”

 

“Mhm,” Ronan says.

 

“Usually he falls asleep by the fourth episode. I suppose we did watch part of a movie beforehand.”

 

Ronan raises his eyebrows, it’s as much as he dares move.

 

Blue/Jane grins, “he’s always adam-ant-” (noah interrupts here to pull finger guns at Blue over her pun) “-that he’s not tired, but it’s always the same shit. It’s far too cute.”

 

“Right,” Gansey says, brushes popcorn and Blue/Jane off of his knee, “we should head home, I suppose.”

 

“Oh,” Blue/Jane says, “I thought you were staying tonight?”

 

Gansey risks a glance at Ronan, and Ronan sighs in frustration.

 

“You don’t need to baby sit me,” he says, voice low, “I’ll survive the night. Stay here.”

 

Blue looks between Gansey and Ronan, then to Noah, who is pointedly looking at his knees.

 

“No,” Gansey says, reaches out for Blue’s hand and brings it to his lips, “no I have to go home tonight, I’m sorry, love.”

 

“Gansey,” Ronan hisses, and Gansey turns back to him.

 

“I’m not planning on babysitting you,” he says carefully, “I just want to be home with you.”

 

It’s annoying because when Gansey says things like this he pulls out his fully fledged empathy soaked serious voice, and as much as Ronan likes to mock him for it, it always drags Ronan right to the edge of his emotions.

 

Currently the edge of his emotions are blocking his throat and stinging his tear ducts.

 

“Fine,” he grits out, “take me the fuck home.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says easily.

 

He thought it would be a bit of a mission getting out from under Adam, but when he turns his head to look, Adam’s eyes are open, his face wary.

 

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, levers himself back into an upright position, “sorry, did I drool on you?”

 

“Wouldn’t care if you did,” Ronan says truthfully, “uh, I’m off.”

 

“Oh,” Adam actually manages to sound sad about this, it’s impressive, “sorry we didn’t really get to spend much time...together.”

 

“It’s fine,” Ronan shrugs, gives Jane Austen a last few strokes before he has to evict her from his lap, “we’re still doing Friday, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Adam nods, “I wanna.”

 

“Ok,” Ronan nods as well, relief a very real thing in his voice, “ok, I have to go.”

 

-

 

He and Gansey had arrived in different cars, and therefore have to drive their separate cars back home. It’s not exactly a long trip, and it’s much shorter for Ronan than it is for Gansey because Gansey drives like an overly cautious cauliflower.

He lets himself in, leaves the door unlocked behind him, hesitates in the living room, and then heads into Gansey’s room and throws himself onto the bed before dragging his phone out of his pocket and texting Noah.

 

10:52 (pm)

-I’m capable of making decisions about what i can and can’t watch you know.

 

10:53

+I know. But you didn’t.

 

10:53

-I fucking said I was fine with it.

 

10:54

+Ya, you did, but in reaction to what you felt was a slight on your character. If when I’d asked you again and you said you were fine with it, that would have been a decision I would have trusted.

+I kno that’s why you didn’t reply. You didn’t want to sayto turn it off.

  


10:56

-It’s not like i can just fucking avoid the concept of suicide, or the reality of it, it’s fucking everywhere, there’s no point in fucking trying to shield me from it.

 

10:57

+I know you’re upset about something so you’re lashing out and being dumb, but that’s not a great excuse, Ro.

+It is everywhere, so that’s a great reason for me to be trying to shield you from it, especially when you’re already upset. That’s why things come with trigger warnings, and mature ratings, and shit like that. It’s to fucking protect people, and I want to protect you when I can.

 

11:12

-Fine.

-I’m sorry.

-thanks i guess.

 

11:22

+You’re welcome. I love you, ok?

 

11:23

-ok.

 

-

 

Gansey’s arrived home, Ronan can hear him toeing his shoes off and locking the front door, chucking his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter. The theoretically fruit bowl, bowl, which only has keys and fake fruit in it.

“Ronan?” Gansey calls, he’s in the kitchen, switching the kettle on.

  


“In here,” Ronan grunts in reply, chucks his phone onto he other side of the bed.

 

Gansey appears in his bedroom doorway, leans against the lintel. Ronan doesn’t have to look to know what his expression is.

 

“Are we talking about this? “Gansey asks.

 

“Haven’t we already?” Ronan replies unhelpfully, regrets throwing his phone away because now he doesn’t have anything to pretend to be occupied with.

 

“Not really,” Gansey says seriously, comes in to perch on the end of his bed, “you wouldn’t be in here if we had.”

 

“Seriously Dick,” Ronan grumbles, “you should do your degree on some psycho babble kind of thing instead of all this politics shit you don’t even like, you’ve already got your therapist voice down pat.”

 

“Maybe I’ll do that next,” Gansey says easily, waits.

 

“If I go to Calla,” Ronan says, “will Blue find out?”

 

To his credit, Gansey doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even need a moment to catch up with Ronan’s train of thought. “No,” he says, “not if you don’t want her to.”

 

“And I could stop going to her if I don’t like it?”

 

“Of course,” Gansey says.

 

“I don’t want Declan to know either.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, this time a little slower, “but I think that, eventually, you should tell him, Ro, he’s worried.”

 

“So I’ll tell him when I’m all better then,” Ronan snaps.

 

Gansey doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t snap back. Just sits there.

 

“I don’t think he’d approve,” Ronan relents, pushes himself up on the mattress into a vaguely upright position, “he’d think she’s a wackjob and would try to push me onto someone he wants me to see.”

 

“You think she’s a wackjob,” Gansey points out.

 

“That’s different,” Ronan objects, sighs heavily, drops back down against the bed, “Gans,” he says.

 

“Yeah?” Gansey asks, soft.

 

“Make me a fucking hot chocolate, will you?”

 

“You know,” Gansey says, Ronan can all but hear him rolling his eyes, “most people put a please in that question rather than an expletive.”

  


-

 

After Gansey returns with hot chocolate (fruit tea for himself), he hands the chocolate to Ronan, puts his tea on the dresser, shucks off his shirt and trousers, and climbs into bed.  

 

“Is this you kicking me out?” Ronan asks as Gansey tugs the blankets up around himself.

 

“No,” Gansey says, props himself up on his pillows and reaches for his tea, “this is me getting into bed. You can stay as long as you want.”

 

“Are you going to read one of your boring books and ignore me?” Ronan asks.

 

“If you want,” Gansey smiles, “get in the bed.”

 

“Ok,” Ronan shrugs, “pass me my phone.”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Under your pillows now, I think,” Ronan snorts, climbs under the blankets.

 

-

 

Adam has texted him.

 

11:30

~Got home ok?

 

11:56

-I had one fucking beer. What is this? The fun police?

 

11:59

~Hey, I’m just doing the polite date thing.

 

Wednesday

12:03 (am)

-That counted as a date then? Even though you were asleep for a large chunk of it?

 

12:03

~For like half an hour maybe.

~Yeah?

~What do you think?

 

12:04

-I suppose we had a drink together and sat on the same couch. I guess it counts.

 

12:05

~I’m glad you agree.

~I liked spending time with you.

 

12:06

-Is this another polite date thing?

 

12:07

~Well yeah, but also the truth.

 

12:10

-Why are you still up? You were so tired you fell asleep on my shoulder.

 

12:10

~I wanted to talk to you.

 

12:11

-About?

 

12:11

~Nothing, just in general.

~Are you sleeping?

 

12:12

-Yes and look, I’ve taught myself to text while asleep!

 

12:12

~Ok,  you sarcastic ass.

 

12;13

-I like spending time with you too.

 

12:13

~I’m assuming that’s directed to Jane Austen.

 

12:14

-Yeah…

-you got me…

 

12:14

~She’s grumpy with me right now, I think she’s somehow already become attached to your lap and begrudges me for not providing it currently.

 

12:15

-Tell her I’ll come over again soon.

 

12:15

~I look forward to it.

 

12:15

-Go to bed before your geek brain shuts down.

 

12:16

~Go to bed before your ass brain shuts down.

 

12:17

-Ha ass brain.

 

-

 

“You good?” Gansey asks wryly after Ronan’s phone is, once again, lobbed across the bed.

 

“God,” Ronan huffs out, tugs harshly at the blankets so he can pull them over his head, “you realise that once Adam realises what a fuck up I am, he’s probably not going to like you as much?”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, pats vaguely over the top of the blankets at Ronan’s face, “I am fairly confident in my own friendship with Parrish. I think it’ll survive whatever you two throw at it.”

 

“God,” Ronan says again, “I’m pretty sure you were supposed to be telling me I”m not a fuck up or something there.”

 

“You don’t like it when I do that,” Gansey says.

 

“No,” Ronan agrees, “but I need you to do it anyway.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, keeps his hand on Ronan’s face, “this is the truth, so listen up; you’ve fucked up some shit, but you’re not a fuck up. I don’t think Adam is going to run away just because you let him see you’re not perfect, I mean, you did first meet him because you were drunk off your ass-”

 

“Ok, thank you,” Ronan says, voice muffled by both the blanket and Gansey’s hand, “that is sufficient reassurance.”

 

Gansey is silent for a long moment, doesn’t remove his hand, then he says, “the movie tonight-”

 

“Is your book so boring that you need to ask dumb questions?” Ronan asks.

 

“My book is very interesting, thank you very much, it’s about the intersection between mythology and history. Did you ask him to turn the movie off?”

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “I told him not to. He turned it off because there was some - some shit - a - a suicide attempt later on apparently, it’s like, whatever, he’s overreacting.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says simply, Ronan hears a page turn, “you mad at him?”

 

“I was.”

 

“Not anymore?”

 

“I know he just - God. How can I be mad at him? He’s got every fucking right to be freaked out about that, he was the one who- I just - fuck, Gans.”

 

“I know.”  Another page turns. Ronan is pretty sure he’s not actually reading, just turning pages so Ronan doesn’t feel so in the spotlight with his feelings. It works. So does being underneath the blanket with Gansey’s hand on his face, even if it is a little hard to breathe.

 

“I wouldn’t do that to him again,” Ronan says emphatically, “or to you. Or myself. Ok?”

 

“I know,” Gansey says again, “I know.”

 

“It’s just that sometimes,” Ronan says, voice dropping down into a mumble, “sometimes it feels like a good idea anyway, or like, that if I - if I went back to K - if I - God. No. No I’m done with emotions tonight, I’m going to sleep.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, his books closes with a snap, “want me to call Calla in the morning? Or would you like to?”

 

“I’ll fucking do it,” Ronan snaps, rolls under the blankets until his back is to Gansey, his face is free.

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, it sounds like he’s nodding, “hey,” he says as he sits up, takes off his glasses, puts away his book, “I’m proud of you.”

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says succinctly.

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, again, lies down and shuffles a little bit under the blankets so he can press his own back against Ronan’s, “goodnight.”

  


-

  


After Ronan hangs up, first session with Calla booked, grumpy mood for the day solidified, Gansey brings him a coffee, and an annoying question.

 

“Do you think you’ll tell Adam?” he asks, produces a plate of pastries as well, “Here’s your ‘good job you adulted’ breakfast reward.”

 

Ronan rolls his eyes at the breakfast, gulps down coffee, “The fuck would I tell him for?”

 

Gansey shrugs, “I don’t know,” he says, “I’m not sure how much you guys talk about, I wasn’t sure if this would be a thing you’d casually mention.”

 

“It’s not a thing I’m going to casually mention,” Ronan says, picks at a flaky piece of pastry, “this isn’t a lifestyle blog or whatever, we don’t always have to be open and fresh with our feelings.”

 

“But wouldn’t that be nice?” Gansey sighs, mournful, dramatic, vaguely sarcastic.

 

“Piss off,” Ronan says.

 

-

 

Wednesday

12:47

~For dinner on friday, is there anywhere in particular you want to go?

 

12:52

-Somewhere we don’t have to wear fancy clothes.

 

12:54

~God, please know that that will always be a given.

 

12:54

-Well...we also need somewhere that caters to cats…

 

12:56

~There is a cat cafe near the gallery, actually, but I don’t think it’s byo cat.

 

12:57

-Damn.

-How do you feel about malaysian?

 

12:58

~I could eat malaysian.

 

12:59

-My shout.

 

1:05

~Ok, no.

 

1:07

-It’s my turn to do a polite date thing. You can pay next time.

 

1:07

~You’re pretty confident there’s going to be a next time.

~;)

 

1:14

-Not sure if I can say this is cyber bullying or not.

-Just you wait, I’ll be the best fucking date you’ve ever dated.

-Maybe I won’t even be late.

 

1:15

~I’m excited.

~You know you were barely late the other day, it wasn’t a big deal.

 

1:15

-Pretty sure 10 mins late counts as pretty late, not barely late.

 

1:16

~You still got me home a good 10 mins before I would have on the bus, so I’m sticking with my analysis.

 

1:16

-Is this your official lawyerly opinion?

 

1:17

~Yes.

 

1:17

-Gross.

 

1:18

~What’re you doing today?

 

1:19

-Why?

 

1:19

~Because class is boring and I want to be entertained.

~Draw me something.

~No pictures of Dick.

 

1:21

-Wow, rude.

-You can’t just demand an artist draw, you insensitive lawyer, especially not if you’re gonna ban them from drawing their favourite subject matter.

-Give me 5 I’ll send you a pic.

 

1:21

~No dick!!!!

 

1:27

-(image attached)

 

1:28

~Ronan.

~This is a dick.

~This is a dick with cat ears and a tail.

~It’s still a dick.

 

1:29

-I am frankly offended that you would think my beautiful cat drawing was anything so crude.

 

1:31

~...

 

1:35

-(image attached)

 

1:36

~So tell me, in art school, do they only teach you how to draw genitals?

 

1:36

-Look, you seemed sad that I didn’t send you an actual drawing of a pussy, I tried to provide. I don’t know how to please you.

-And no, they also teach us how to draw rage and depression.

 

1:37

~Sounds legitimate.

 

1:37

-This might sound like a rude question, but, are you gay? Or like, bi? Or what? Pan? Questioning?

 

1:39

~I generally stick with bi. You?

 

1:40

-Really fucking gay.

 

1:42

~It’s not a problem, right? Me being bi?

 

1:43

-Fuck right off.

 

1:45

~Ok, ok, it’s just, a lot of people I’ve known treat it like it’s some phase or whatever, or like, I’m actually gay, or straight but trying to be cool, or like, they don’t actually want to date me because I’m ‘tainted’ or whatever.

 

1:46

-tainted with female cooties.

-gross.

-seriously, I don’t give a fuck.

-I mean, obviously I do, I asked, but I don’t give a bad fuck.

 

1:49

~This may be a bad time to tell you? Or a weird time? Or something, but I feel like I ought to tell you that Blue and I dated, for a couple of months, a few years back.

 

1:50

-The fuck?

-Didn’t you 2 just fucking meet recently?

-You dated maggot????

-Does Gans know?

 

1:53

~We went to the same highschool, worked at the same diner.

~I think Blue told him already.

~Actually I don’t know. It might not even have crossed her mind.

 

1:53

-What the actual hellll

-you worked at fucking ninos??

-youre from henrietta, you went to mountain view????

 

1:55

~Are these all bad things?

 

1:56

-How the hell have I not met you earlier?

 

1:57

Why would you have?

 

1:57

-Um because Gans and Noah and I lived in Henrietta, went to Aglionby, were always at Nino’s so Gans could moon over Blue even though he didn’t make a move until we were at fucking university. I never saw you there.

 

2:01

~I was a kitchen hand.

~You went to Aglionby?

 

2:02

-I mean, technically I did.

-Why the hell did Blue maggot never tell us this????

 

2:07

~I have to go, sorry. Talk to you later.

 

2:09

-Whatever. Text me when you’re finished nerding it up I guess.

 

-

 

2:19

-Did you fucking know that Adam went to Mountain View with Blue?

 

2:20

_Our Adam? Our Blue? Henrietta’s Mountain View?

 

2:21

-No, dickface, Adam from my first year life drawing class, blue the colour, and mountain view the who the fuck knows.

-Yes, our ones. Dumb ass.

 

2:22

_I did not. Blue said they had been friends for ages, but I never realised.

_How did I never realise.

_Do you think Noah knows?

_I bet Noah knows.

 

2:23

-Do you think it’s a conspiracy?

-A don’t tell Gansey conspiracy?

-Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

 

2:24

_Rude.

_Did Adam tell you?

 

2:25

-No the tooth fairy did.

-He didn’t know I was from there, pretty sure he knew about you though.

-He seemed upset about it, actually.

 

2:26

_Did you say something rude about Mountain View?

 

2:27

-Like that it’s full of wannabe preps and nerds? No.

-I don’t know.

 

2:30

_It just occurred to me that you’re actually holding a conversation with me. Via text. Are you feeling alright?  

_Is this a side effect of texting Adam all the time? You’ve suddenly realised your phone can be used as a communication device?

 

2:20

-Fuck right off.

 

-

 

2:21

-You know Adam’s from Henrietta, right?

 

2:22

+Well. Yes.

 

2:22

-Did you know him when we were all there?

 

2:23

+I knew of him. I only properly met him recently when he moved in.

+Why?

  


-

 

9:59

~There’s a nice looking Malaysian restaurant just a block away from the art gallery.

 

10:03

-Sounds good.

-Busy day?

 

10:04

~Still busy.

 

10:04

-What with?

 

10:07

~Had classes all morning and early afternoon, then the cafe, I’m cataloguing at the bookstore currently.

 

10:08

-I guess I’m flattered that you’re making time to text me in the midst of it all.

 

10:09

~What did you do today? Draw more genitals?

 

10:10

-I mostly lay on the floor.

 

10:13

~Sounds productive.

 

10:14

-If you want to hear about someone doing shit with their day, I advise you text someone else.

 

10:15

~Get up out of the wrong side of the floor this morning?

 

10:15

-No I was just born grumpy.

 

10:18

~Hard life.

 

10:19

-Are you bussing home from work tonight? Will the busses still be running that route this late?

 

10:22

~I get off at 11, so no. I’m gonna walk it.

 

10:22

-The fuck.

-That’s like a 45 min walk or something.

 

10:24

~Gee, I wasn’t aware, thanks.

 

10:25

-I could give you a ride if you like.

 

10:25

~Not necessary. Thanks.

 

10:26

-You won’t get home til almost midnight. Think of all the study time you’re gonna lose out on.

 

10:28

~I have recordings of my lectures on my phone to listen to. I’m set.

 

10:29

-Is it the ride or me you object to?

 

10:30

~God Ronan.

~It’s you offering your time and petrol so freely, like it’s fucking nothing.

 

10:31

-I’m offering 20 mins of my time tops. That is fucking nothing.

 

10:32

~To you, maybe.

 

10:32

-The fuck is that supposed to mean?

 

10:33

~Nothing. Just that you don’t seem to give a fuck about wasting time, or wasting education, or money, or whatever the fuck.

 

11:41

~Sorry.

 

Thursday

12:07 (am)

~ That wasn’t what I really think about you. I was taking my anger about something else out on you and I’m really sorry. You didn’t deserve that.

 

12:30

~I have a really shitty relationship with money. And Henrietta. And Aglionby. Not an excuse, just an explanation. Sorry.

 

12:32

-go the fuck to sleep.

-you’re forgiven or whatever.

 

12:32

~Thank you.

 

12:32

-fuck off.

 

-

 

For some stupid reason, he had booked his first appointment with Calla far too early in the morning. Maybe some people wouldn't think half past 10 in the morning was excruciatingly early, but it wasn’t leaving Ronan enough time for all the regret he wanted to get in before he had to go. This is probably why he had booked it at this time. Knowing this doesn’t help. What also doesn’t help is Gansey attempting to be calm and reassuring about the whole thing. He would almost prefer if Gansey had just carried on with life as usual, rather than dithering around the kitchen while Ronan grumpily drank his coffee, making small talk about absolutely nothing useful.

 

“Dick,” he grunts out, puts his coffee down in favour of placing his face in his hands instead, “why the fuck are you so nervous about this? I’m the one going to therapy, not you.”

 

Gansey, to his credit, manages to say something actually useful. “I’m just worried about how I’m going to have to explain my involvement to the police after you burn down the building when Calla pisses you off,” he says lightly. Ronan snorts. Gansey ruins this vaguely lightened mood as soon as he next opens his mouth; “Do you want me to drive you?” he asks, “I can skip class this morning and wait out front for you to finish, if you like.”

 

“Fuck, Dick!” Ronan snaps, shoves the coffee cup - now empty - away from, “I’m not your fucking kid. I’ve got this. I can fucking take myself to my own appointments.”

 

“I know you can,” Gansey says mildly, comes over to take away Ronan’s cup as if he thinks Ronan will keep batting at it - like a cat - until it falls and smashes on the floor. “I just want to be useful.”

 

“You can be useful by-” Ronan starts, frustration and nerves fueling him into ruder territories, then he stops, exhales angrily, buries his face in his hands again, “-by getting pizza without fucking avocado on it for dinner.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, sounds vaguely surprised, “I can do that. What will you do this afternoon?”

 

“Dunno,” Ronan grunts, “Drive. Draw dicks. Stop trying to parent me.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says again, “I won’t. I just - will you text me after? Just so I won’t worry. Please?”

 

If this had been last year, or even, just 6 months ago, maybe less, he would have refused. Would have sworn more. Possibly would have stomped out of the room. Now he groans into the countertop but agrees.

“Fine,” he says, “God. You fucking worry wart.”

 

“So be my wart balm and stop my worry,” Gansey replies, not quite as funny as he seems to think he is.

 

“Gross,” Ronan snorts, pushes himself away from the counter, “I’m going. Please don’t come up with any more analogies.”

 

-

 

Calla is very unlike the therapists Ronan’s seen before, and he’s seen quite a few. A few he’d begrudgingly gone to at Declan’s insistence before shit got really bad between them, a few Gansey had suggested after Ronan hadn’t left his room in weeks, and one he’d seen for longest after his attempt had put him on a more official case list which had assigned him a therapist.

The ones Declan had suggested had all been very straight up, stiff upper lip types, which really didn’t seem like a good quality in a therapist, the ones Gansey had suggested had focused too much on, ‘and how did that make you feel’, which was probably not as useless as he felt it was, and the hospital one had just been too fucking involved while still somehow missing the whole point of it all.

 

Calla at first glance appears to be stiff upper lip-esque. She’s resplendent in bright fuschia lipsticks, sharply pointed matching nails, and something that Ronan can only really describe as a cloak. She sits across from him, the two of them on squishy armchairs, and stares, eyebrows raised.

 

“The fuck?” Ronan asks eventually when it becomes obvious that Calla isn’t going to begin this conversation.

 

“Oh,” Calla says, “would you like us to talk?”

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says again, “why the hell else am I paying you?”

 

“Some people just like to sit,” Calla says easily, crosses her legs, “you looked like you’d prefer to get your bearings before talking.”

 

“I have my bearings,” Ronan says brusquely, “we’re in a room with too much floral wallpaper.”

 

“Rude,” Calla says, shifts comfortably in her chair, “what the hell do you have against florals?”

 

“I didn’t think therapists were allowed to swear,” Ronan replies, eyebrows raised.

 

“I didn’t think you wanted a soft touch,” Calla returns.

 

“The floral is overbearing,” Ronan says, “the pattern is all too close together, it’s just not structured well.”

 

“Oh yes,” Calla nods, “artist, yes?”

 

Ronan narrows his eyes, “How do you know that?”

 

Calla snorts, reaches out to the short table beside her, upon which is a coffee mug, a stack of papers, and a half eaten pear. She grabs the papers and holds them aloft. “Because when you called up the other day, you agreed that I could request your notes from your previous therapists because you, and I quote, ‘don’t want to fucking tell the whole fucking back story’.”

 

“Right,” Ronan grumbles, “whatever.”

 

“The wallpaper is being changed next week,” Calla says calmly, replaces the papers, and snags the pear instead, “we’ve just moved premises and haven’t finished with the decor yet.”

 

“Right,” Ronan says again. Shrugs.

He fucking hates this. He doesn’t know how to start these conversations. Doesn’t know what the rules are. Doesn’t know what he even hopes he’s gonna get out of this. Doesn’t know what he even wants to get out of it. He just wants to fucking be ok.

 

“So,” Calla says, through a mouthful of pear, “something shitty happened recently, huh? That’s what brought you here?”

 

Ronan glares.

 

Calla takes another bite of pear. Chews calmly.

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan begins, tone stilted, “how much are in those notes. If they mention - if they mention this guy -  K -”

 

“Yes,” Calla says, “they mention him.”

 

“What do they say?”

 

“They say you felt trapped by him,” Calla reveals easily, she appears entirely focused on her pear, “that he enhanced your negative thinking, encouraged your reckless behaviour, and cut you off from your support systems.”

 

Ronan snorts. Nothing is actually amusing about this, it’s more a snort of self defence, and he immediately finds himself embarrassed by it. Calla doesn’t look up from her pear, she’s navigating a slightly bruised spot now.

 

“I’m pretty sure I never said any of that shit to any therapist,” Ronan says. Calla shrugs.

 

“Perhaps they were more perceptive than you gave them credit for. Were they wrong?”

 

Ronan wants to say yes, just out of spite. “No,” he grinds out, “if they were so fucking perceptive you’d have thought they would actually have been useful.”

 

“Hm,” Calla hums, drops the pear core into the thankfully empty coffee cup, “you don’t think they were useful?”

 

Ronan snorts again, this time he is vaguely amused. “No,” he says, “I fucking tried to kill myself despite all of their so called help, I don’t think that can count as fucking useful.”

 

Calla shrugs, she seems entirely untroubled by Ronan bringing up his suicide attempt so casually, something Ronan begrudgingly appreciates. “So they didn’t get you into the most stable place,” she agrees, “did nothing about your visits with them help?”

 

He has to remind himself that he wants to be here. That he wants help. That to be here, being helped, he has to actually cooperate.

 

“I don’t know,” he says, “generally I felt like shit before I went to see them, felt like shit while I was there, and felt shittier afterwards.”

 

“Ok,” Calla nods, “want a coffee?” She’s hooked up her mug with the pear core in it with one finger, and has suddenly stood, her cloak/dress/thing falling dramatically around her legs.

 

Ronan stares.

 

“Yes,” he says, “two sugars.”

 

“Gross,” Calla says, “I take it you want it with milk too then?”

 

“Yes,” Ronan says,

 

“Gross,” Calla reiterates. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

 

He takes the time Calla is gone to check his phone. There’s a picture of Jane Austen waiting for him in his text messages. Not the cat, the author. He stares at it for a moment, scrolls down to see what Adam had written with it.

 

Thursday

10:28 (am)

~(image attached)

~Do you think our Jane Austen is prettier? I think so, but I also don’t think she’s as smart as this one.

 

He texts back quickly.

 

10:40

-I think you shouldn’t compare women to each other, especially not on looks.

 

10:41

~You’re right. That was a pretty gross thing of me to do.

 

10:41

-Think how mad Blue would be if she found out.

 

10:41

~God please no, I’ve seen the error in my ways, I repent!

 

Ronan snorts. Shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket. He can hear Calla coming back, doesn’t want to be texting when she comes back in. He’s almost vaguely pissed off that Adam is acting so normal this morning, yet at the same time, vaguely pleased.

 

“Your disgustingly sweet, milk tainted coffee,” Calla announces, pushing the door open with her elbow and holding a giant pink mug with squiggly designs on it out towards him.

 

“I’m pretty sure dissing my coffee preferences is also against therapy training or whatever,” Ronan snarks, takes the mug.

 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” Calla replies, sits heavily back down into her chair, takes a long sip from her own mug. “Now,” she says, “you were about to tell me what the hell this asshole K did recently that pushed you into my office.”

 

“I was?” Ronan asks, blows on his coffee.

 

“Yup,” Calla says confidently, “it’s not too hot to drink, it’s got milk in, geez. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, takes a gulp of the very drinkable coffee, “I’m starting to think you’re not even a therapist.”

 

“And I’m starting to think you’re avoiding the subject,” Calla replies.

 

“I don’t know where to start,” Ronan says, confesses, “the beginning is too long ago now to start there.”

 

“So tell me why you’re here,” Calla says, “that can be the beginning.”

 

Ronan shrugs, “I almost relapsed,” he says, “it was so easy to. I almost went back to doing everything I promised everyone I’d never do again.”

 

“Good place to start,” Calla nods, takes another sip of coffee, “tell me why.”

 

-

 

They go over time. Not much over time, but probably enough that he thinks Gansey has probably already started freaking out about not having heard from him yet. He doesn’t want to text until he’s safely in his car though, not for any practical reasons, it just feels wrong to do it with Calla right there. He lets Calla book him in for another appointment. He tries to suggest they could do it in a month, she asks if he’s free next week. He goes with that.

 

Gansey has texted him only twice, which shows a remarkable amount of restraint, quite honestly.

 

11:38

_Did everything go alright?

11:52

_Please text me back when you get this.

 

He texts back.

 

12:07 (pm)

-It went fine. Pizza tonight. No avo.

 

12:07

_Yes, your majesty.

_When will you be home?

_Be safe.

 

He wants to text back saying that he wouldn’t just spend money on therapy to then turn around and go fuck more shit up, but he sort of has a track record of doing just that, so he doesn’t text back at all.

He’s not sure if driving right now is a great idea, honestly. Not after spending over an hour talking about K. Not when K is so involved in driving.

He had been planning on driving out of the city, just fucking getting out for a bit. Instead, he drives into the city. Skirts away from the areas he knows well, knows best in the dark, drives into the busy centre.

 

-

 

1:42

-Have you actually ever read any Jane Austen?

 

1:50

~Of course I have. What do you take me for? A heathen? I had english class.

 

1:51

-Not read for pleasure/leisure then?

 

1:52

~That concept is unfamiliar to me.

~I did enjoy them though.

~I even bought one of the books after we’d finished reading them at school.

~Not that I had time to ever read it again.

 

1:53

-Which one?

 

1:54

~Sense and Sensibility

 

1:55

-Of course.

-I prefer Pride and Prejudice.

 

1:56

~Of course you do.

~Do you liken yourself to Mr Darcy?

 

1:57

-Only if you’re Eliza.

-No I don’t.

-Maybe Lydia.

 

1:58

~Seriously?

 

1:59

-Well. No.

 

2:01

~Thank God.

~I mean though, you just don’t really come off quite as enamoured with frippery as she is.

 

2:03

-Fuck, does talking about classics make you slip into essay speak??

 

2:04

~gee soz i meant youre not so keen on all the pretty shit like her.

 

2:05

-Awful.

-And I do like pretty stuff.

-You’re pretty.

 

2:07

~I’m blushing in class. This is your fault.

 

2:08

-Your fault for texting in class.

 

2:08

~You texted me first!

 

2:09

-YOU texted me first, I was just replying a little late.

 

2:10

~Hm.

 

2:11

-Come on lawyer, lawyer up on me.

 

2:12

~Piss off.

~What’re you up to?

 

2:13

-In a bookstore.

-Looking at books.

 

2:14

~And here I thought you would be dancing a jig in this bookstore.

 

2:15

-Funny.

 

2:15

~I have my moments.

~Are you looking for anything in particular?

 

2:16

-A present for my mum.

 

2:17

~Oh yeah. It’s mother’s day on sunday, yeah?

 

2:18

-Also her birthday.

 

2:20

~Useful.

~What kinda book are you getting her?

 

2:25

-I’m thinking T S eliot poetry. It’s her kind of weird.

 

2:26

~I’m not familiar with it.

 

2:27

-Do you know Cats?

 

2:30

~I mean, I know of cats?

 

2:31

-The musical. Andrew Lloyd Webber?

 

2:32

~Oh right. Yes. Never seen it.

 

2:33

-Unhelpful. The songs from that are ts eliot poetry. Google it.

 

2:35

~Maybe I will.

 

2:36

-I’ll quiz you about jellicle cats at the gallery tomorrow.

 

2:37

~fuck.

 

-

  


“Are you going to DC this weekend?” Ronan asks, as casually as he can, while he and Gansey are sitting together on the sofa, now empty pizza box between them.

 

“Uh,” Gansey says, he had been writing an email on his phone, but he drops it onto his lap before answering, “that’s a good question. Helen wants me to.”

 

“Do you have politician son duties?” Ronan snorts, fiddles with a loose thread on the couch covering, “Some public mother’s day brunch appearance?”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “do you want me to stay?”

 

“No,” Ronan says immediately, “don’t be stupid.”

 

“I’d be happy to,” Gansey continues as if Ronan hadn’t spoken, “I’d give almost any excuse not to go to this brunch.”

 

“I don’t want to be your excuse this year,” Ronan says, “use Blue.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, dropping it a lot quicker than Ronan had expected, “will you be going to see Aurora on Sunday?”

 

“Yes,” Ronan says stiffly, “I bought her a book.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“T. S Eliot’s collected poetry. I’ll read it to her.”

 

“Sounds good,” Gansey says, smiling, “you have a great reading voice.”

 

“Declan’s better,” Ronan says, sniffs, “maybe Matthew can persuade him to read some. It’s probably too fanciful for him though.”

 

“Declan can be fanciful,” Gansey points out thoughtfully, “remember that time he played pirates with us?”

 

“God,” Ronan snorts loudly, “that was a whole decade ago, Gans.”

 

“Still,” Gansey insists, “it was fun.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

-

 

11:07

-Are you workinng late tonight?

 

11:08

~Just got off my shift at the bookstore.

~Noah’s giving me a lift tonight.

 

11:09

-Oh good.

 

11:10

~Yeah, so, he and Blue were pretty pissed that I walked home.

 

11:11

-No shit.

 

11:12

~I know I should have accepted your offer of a ride. It would have made more sense. I’m just painfully, and self-damagingly stubborn apparently.

 

11:13

-Thankfully you’re living with Jane/Blue the stubbornest.

 

11:14

~Um. Noah says hi. According to him it’s rude to text his friend without him.

 

11:15

-Tell Noah to fuck off and get a life.

 

11:16

~Noah made a gesture which I have no idea how to translate into text.

 

11:16

-It’s ok. I can imagine it. I’ve known him for long enough.

 

11:17

~Can you then text him and tell him to stop asking me very intimate details about my dating plans with you then? I just don’t think know him well enough yet.

 

11:17

-God.

  


11:18

~I’m pretty sure he just wants to see me blush.

 

11:19

-Are you blushing?

 

11:19

~Of course not.

 

11:19

-I can ask Noah, you know.

 

11:20

~Uh huh

 

11:21

-So, are you going back home for mother’s day, or just like, ringing your mum?

 

11:52

~I’m not in touch with my parents.

 

11:58

-Oh. Sorry.

 

Friday

12:02 (am)

~It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.

~Are you going home for it, then?

 

12:03

-No. I’m visiting my mum at the care home, it’s in the city.

 

12:07

~Oh. You never said your mum was in care.

 

12:08

-Kinda felt like too much shit to drop after saying my  dad was dead, y’know.

-Anyway, it’s not like you told me you weren’t in contact with your parents.

 

12:09

~Well. It felt rude after hearing that your dad was dead.

~I really need to go to sleep.

~I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

~Well, later today.

 

12:10

-nerd.

-goodnight.

 

-

 

He knows he ought to be sleeping. Definitely should be. Wants to be. His brain, however, has other ideas.

Usually, Gansey is still awake at this point, nose in a book, in bed but awake. His light is already off by the time Ronan stands outside his bedroom door tonight though. Ronan lets himself be put off for about 10 seconds, and then pushes the door open anyway, stands in the dim doorway and squints into the dark of the room. Gansey is a notoriously light sleeper.

 

“Mh?” he mumbles after a few moments, shifts under the blankets until he’s somewhat facing Ronan, “Ro? Y’good?”

 

“I’m bored,” Ronan says. This isn’t technically a lie. Gansey huffs in something that’s probably frustration.

 

“Have you tried sleeping?” he asks, “I hear that’s fun.”

 

“Yes,” Ronan replies petulantly, “I can’t.”   


“And you want me to do something about that?”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “entertain me.”

 

Gansey snorts, rolls back over. “You can get in with me, if you want,” he offers, “but I’m not getting up.”

 

He briefly considers going back to his own room, and then he steps forward and flops down on top of the blankets, and coincidentally, on top of Gansey.

 

“Fuck, Ro,” Gansey grumbles, “I said get in, not flatten me.”

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, doesn’t move, “I must have misheard.”  Gansey pushes him off, then tugs the blanket down, and Ronan shuffles under them.

 

“Are you nervous about your date?” Gansey asks, grips the blanket tightly so Ronan can’t steal all of it.

 

“The fuck would I be nervous for?”

 

It’s dark, and Ronan’s eyes are shut now anyway, but he can practically see Gansey rolling his eyes.

 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Gansey says, “I’m sure it’ll go fine.”

 

“Right,” Ronan snorts, “like the movie went fine.”

 

“It did go fine,” Gansey says, “not the best night in general, no, but between the two of you it went fine, didn’t it?”

 

“I guess,” Ronan says, sighs, rolls back over to face Gansey, manages to steal a little more of the blanket, “everything’s going too fast and too slow at the same time. I don’t know what to think.”

 

“Yeah?” Gansey prompts.

 

“I mean,” Ronan grunts, “we’re both… we’re acting like we already know each other really well, and then we’re acting like we’re strangers. And they’re both true. And it’s doing my head in.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, then, “did you - stop me if you want - did you talk to Calla about this?”

 

“Not really,” Ronan says, “A little. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You can sleep now.”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey protests, “I’m awake now.”

 

“Well I want to sleep now,” Ronan retorts.

 

“God,” Gansey sighs, tugs hard at the blanket to retrieve what Ronan had slowly stolen off of him, “goodnight.”

 

-

 

In the morning Ronan wakes to Gansey’s good politician son voice, and rolls over under the blankets to blink blearily up at Gansey standing over by his bedroom window - still in boxer shorts and a half done up pj top, but somehow managing to look put together.

 

“Of course,” Gansey is saying, “I absolutely wouldn’t want that,” he says, “of course.”

 

It sounded like Gansey would be going to DC after all. He considers changing his mind, telling Gansey to use him as an excuse, but it’s not like last year. He doesn’t want the Gansey seniors to think he’s still that much of a fuck up. Doesn’t want them to have more reason to dislike him and Gansey living together. He gets up and leaves Gansey to it.  

 

-

 

Friday

2:49 (pm)

~Do you want to meet up before the opening and go in together, or do you just want to meet there?

 

3:07

-Don’t make me walk in by myself.

 

3:08

~Surely you’re used to going to art gallery openings?

 

3:09

-I want to have a visible excuse not to be immediately bombarded by ex-classmates.

 

3:09

~Is that going to be a problem?

~We don’t have to go to this if you don’t want to bump into anyone.

 

3:10

-Nah I wanna go. I don’t care about seeing them so long as I can pretend I”m busy talking to you.

 

3:10

~Oh so we’re just going to pretend to be talking, are we?

~ ;)

 

3:11

-I mean, we know this is just a foil for me to get with your cat.

 

3:11

~I can’t believe this is a thing that makes sense to me.

~Should we meet at my bookstore at 7, I get off then and we could walk to the gallery from there.

 

3:12

-Don’t forget about your jellicle cats exam tonight.

 

3:12

~ :(

 

-

 

6 o’clock finds Ronan hanging upside down off of his bed in a vague attempt at ‘chilling out’ before he goes out. It also finds Gansey standing outside his bedroom door, knocking insistently.

 

“Ronan,” he calls, “why is your door locked? What are you doing?”

 

“I’m wanking, you invasive asshole,” Ronan calls back, voice somewhat nasal from the angle.

 

“Gross,” Gansey scoffs in reply, “I suppose Adam is pretty hot so I guess that makes sense.”

 

“Gross!” Ronan calls back, “What the fuck do you want, dickball?”

 

“I’m going out with Blue, just wanted to check you’re all good for tonight.”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan groans, swings himself upright, “I’m not your fucking kid.”

 

“Debatable,” Gansey says, then, “are you going to wear something that isn’t your ripped jeans?”

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, stands up to stride over to the door, unlocks it and opens it swiftly. Gansey stumbles slightly, pulls himself upright, and raises his eyebrows at Ronan.

 

“Ah,” he says, “not dressing up at all for this, then?”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with my outfit,” Ronan says, “it’s what I always wear. I’m not going to present a - a fake image of myself. At least it’s better than your fucking pastels.”

 

“My pastels make me happy,” Gansey replies primly, “I don’t see how your various shades of black do the same for you.”

 

“That’s because you’re Gansey,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, and pushes his way past Gansey to head to the kitchen, “if Adam disapproves of my clothes, he can get stuffed.”

 

“Sure,” Gansey replies, he sounds amused, “will you be home tonight?”

 

“God,” Ronan snaps, overfills his water glass, “I think you’re mistaking me for Declan. I’m not going to go back to his and fuck him on the first date.”

 

Gansey shrugs, holds his hands up defensively, “Just wondering about your plans,” he says, “but I am glad to hear that because I’m going to be at his house and I’d prefer not to be present for any first date fuckery.”

 

“I hate you,” Ronan grumbles, drinks his water.

 

“Mhm,” Gansey says, grabs his keys from the not really a fruit bowl bowl, “love you too, see you tomorrow.”

 

-

 

He’s not late this time. Neither is he accosted by Kavinsky in the supermarket or elsewhere. He really isn’t sure what the protocol here is though, should he go inside, should he sit out here and wait, should he text Adam so he knows he’s arrived? The thing he knows he most certainly shouldn’t do is honk like an obnoxious asshole, and so he spends he next five minutes very carefully no doing that by sitting on his hands because he doesn’t trust himself. He’s still sitting on his hands when Adam comes out of the shop, bag over one shoulder. On seeing the car, he walks over to the driver’s side window, and Ronan loses control of his hands, honks the horn.

Adam opens the door.

“Asshole,” he says, “thank God that was on my deaf side, or I’d be real pissed at you right now.”

 

“Sorry,” Ronan grins, then, “your deaf side?”

 

“Yup,” Adam shrugs, “are we walking, or did you want to drive?”

 

“The parking here is free after 6, I thought I’d just leave my car here,” Ronan says, can’t get out of the car yet because Adam’s still standing in the way, “you’re deaf in your left ear?”

 

“Yup,” Adam says again, steps away from the car so Ronan can get out, “no, I wasn’t born with it, I had an accident when I was 16, yes, I know some sign but not enough, no, I don’t want to talk about the accident.”

 

“Okay,” Ronan says slowly, narrows his eyes, gets out of the car, “thank you for the small info dump of answers to questions I wasn’t going to ask.”

 

Adam raises his eyebrows, shoves his hands in his pockets as Ronan locks the car, “You were definitely going to ask at least one of those questions.”

 

“Well,” Ronan makes a face, “maybe. Should we walk?”

 

They walk in silence for a few moments, and Ronan is just telling himself that at least it doesn’t appear to be awkward silence, when Adam speaks.

 

“So,” he says, “Gansey texted me this morning.”

 

Ronan whips his head round so fast his neck cricks loudly, and Adam looks up at him startled.

 

“Just a casual text?” Ronan asks, attempts to sound normal, “Or an interfering in tonight text?”

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “I think it was a ‘if you hurt my best friend I’ll fuck you up text’, but it was very polite so not quite the usual script.”

 

“The fuck,” Ronan groans, “what did that dumbfuck say to you?”

 

Adam snorts, leans sideways to elbow Ronan gently, “He said to have a nice night.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, “and?”

 

“And that-” Adam pauses here so he can lift his hands up in the air to create speech marks, then continues, “- ‘he enjoys my company immensely, but he feels I ought to know that if I upset you he will be displeased.’”

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says again, “what the hell is he thinking?”

 

Adam shrugs, “The text came in at like, 3.30 this morning, so I’m not entirely sure he was thinking.”

 

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Great,” he says, “did that put you off at all?”

 

“Nah,” Adam grins, “I thought it was kinda nice. Kinda odd, but really, Gansey is kinda odd in general.”

 

“Yeah he is,” Ronan agrees glumly, “for the record,” he adds, “if this does go balls up, I’m not going to try and stop you and Gans from being friends, or whatever.”

 

“That would be awkward,” Adam says, “seeing as I live with his girlfriend. But I do appreciate that. And,” he continues, “also for the record, I’m not expecting this to go balls up.”

 

“You know,” Ronan says, casual, “you don’t really strike me as very optimistic generally, but you’re just so - this is only our first date, how do you say things like that?” Not quite as casual as intended.

 

Adam doesn’t look offended, he does look a little abashed though. “I-” he starts, chuckles, “you’re right,” he says, “I’m not generally very optimistic. I don’t tend to think things are going to go well at all.”

 

This is where Ronan would usually sneak in with a quick sarcastic remark, but he already knows he’s probably pushing it, doesn’t want to push it any further.

 

“It doesn’t feel like just a coincidence that we met,” Adam is saying, “that we met and you’re you and I’m me. I’m not trying to say anything… anything stupid about fate or whatever, it’s just that it felt right. That this feels right. Things don’t often feel right for me, so when they do-” he shrugs again, he’s still looking abashed, his cheeks are dusted with pink, “-I go for it.”

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “that’s a lot more thought out than I was expecting.”

 

“What were you expecting me to say?” Adam asks, grins, elbows Ronan’s side gently.

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan admits, “not something quite as cheesy as that though,” he adds snidely, elbows Adam back, and Adam yelps in mock outrage. They’re both grinning a little too wildly.

 

“It’s probably too early, especially for a first date, to ask to hold your hand, yeah?” Adam asks.

 

“That was a very round about way of asking to hold my hand,” Ronan snorts, takes his hand out of his jacket pocket, “I’m not fussed about too early.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, reaches out and takes Ronan’s hand firmly.

 

“Just don’t tell Noah,” Ronan adds, and Adam looks at him oddly.

 

“Why?”

 

“He has some odd ideas about hand holding,” Ronan snorts, knows he’s being obtuse, can’t bring himself to care because Adam’s snorting as well, squeezing Ronan’s hand tighter.

 

-

 

The gallery is open by the time they arrive, and is teeming with people clasping flutes of wine in one hand, and overly fancy catalogues in the other. It’s a lot more crowded than Ronan would have liked it, and, after a glance, looks to be more crowded than Adam had been hoping as well.

 

“That’s a lot of people,” Ronan prompts helpfully after they’ve been standing outside the building for a few minutes.

 

“Yes,” Adam agrees, he sounds slightly startled, turns quickly to look at Ronan, “you ok with holding my hand in there?”

 

“Of course,” Ronan snorts, rolls his eyes, and then narrows them in realisation, “wait,” he says, “are you going to be able to hear me in there?”

 

“If you stay on this side,” Adam replies, squeezes Ronan’s fingers, “and stay close. Hence the hand holding.”

 

“‘Hence’,” Ronan snorts, “God no wonder you and Dick are friends.”

 

“Yes,” Adam says, rolls his eyes, “he used the word ‘hence’ in front of me and I had to have him.”

 

“I get it,” Ronan smirks, “you have a thing for language. Let’s go in, I promise not to drop any poncy words in your ear while we’re in public.”

 

“You’re a disaster,” Adam snorts, lets Ronan lead him inside.

 

There’s a lot of Ronan’s old classmates in here. Way more than he’d been expecting, which means this exhibition was probably a tutor’s, or a student run one, which means that someone was definitely going to try and talk to him. Until just recently he’d hoped that the fact he’d shaved all his hair off since dropping out would have made him harder to recognise, but after running into a bunch of them in a club, he knew this was a false hope. He just has to hope he can arrange his face in a way which makes him unapproachable. He knows that this is also probably a false hope.

 

“Hey,” Adam asks as they pause in front of a bed sized canvas (The painting is of three red lemons and one yellow strawberry), “you ok?”

 

“Of course,” Ronan snaps back, leaning down slightly so he can speak more easily into Adam’s ear, “why?”

 

“You’re crushing my fucking fingers,” Adam replies wryly, “and I’d prefer not to have both arms in a cast.”

 

“Oh fuck,” Ronan hisses, lets go of Adam’s hand entirely, brings his hands up to rest against his chest as if he needs to restrain them, “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Adam says, reaches up to take Ronan’s hand back, “do you want to go?”

 

“No,” Ronan says, he doesn’t, he wants to look at this fucking weird art and have a nice time holding Adam’s hand, “I’ll pay more attention to my grip.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, shifts his hand in Ronan’s, threads their fingers together, “tell me about this lemon painting, oh art scholar.”

 

“I’m not an art scholar anymore,” Ronan says, “but see the way the paint is thicker right here-?-”

 

Adam appears to be interested in what he has to say, or at least, he’s very good at sounding interested. They make it halfway around the room, Adam asking for his opinion on each piece of art, Ronan feeling like he remembers a lot more from uni than he thought he had, and then they’re interrupted.

 

“Lynch!” Someone calls from behind them, an unbearably pleased sounding someone, “Ronan Lynch?”

 

He’s not sure if he’s squeezing Adam’s hand or if Adam’s squeezing his, but their grip is suddenly much tighter. He tries to relax it, to no avail, realises it’s Adam who’s holding on so tightly.

 

They turn together, end up face to face with Tad Carruthers, the loudest student Ronan had ever had the misfortune of sitting next to.

 

“It is you!” Tad grins, “How blessed we are for you to grace us all with your presence. Here I thought you were doing the whole hermit artist genius thing, but no! You’re out in the open! With no hair! Where did your hair go?”

 

“I shaved it off when I took a vow of silence,” Ronan deadpanned. Tad laughed. Then glanced briefly from Ronan, to Adam, to Ronan, to their joined hands.

 

“And is your friend joining you in your vow of silence?”

 

“No,” Adam replies tautly, though his face is advertising a smile, “as you can see, I still have all my hair.”

 

“Oh,” Tad said, his grin still on his mouth, even if it wasn’t gelling with the rest of his expression, “he’s a funny one.”

 

“Carruthers,” Ronan says stiffly, “this is Parrish. Parrish, Carruthers. He was in my illustration class.”

 

Tad doesn’t even bother attempting to perform a gracious introductory smile. “So, Ronan,” he says after a perfunctory glance to Adam, “I’ve been hearing some rumors about why you left us.”

 

“And I’ve been hearing rumors about how I don’t give a fuck about what you’ve been hearing,” Ronan replies.

 

Tad laughs again. Like he thinks Ronan is being funny. Like he thinks this is a friendly conversation. “Heard you got in a car crash,” he says, “Something about your boyfriend drunk driving? Or was it drug driving? Anyway -”

 

“Not my boyfriend,” Ronan hisses. There’s anger coursing up his throat, bubbling into nausea at the back of his tongue.

 

“God, no I hope he isn’t anymore!” Tad laughs, it’s always amazing how oblivious he manages to be, “I told you from the beginning he was a bad idea, didn’t I?”

 

“The fuck you did,” Ronan snaps, “fuck off.”

 

“C’mon Lynch,” Tad smiles, “I at the very least implied it. What are you being so snippy about?”

 

“Maybe,” Adam snaps, “because you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

 

“Oh,” Tad says, “oh, right of course, is this your new buea, Lynch? I’m so sorry, I was probably coming off as indelicate.”

 

“This is none of your business,” Ronan says, tugs Adam a little closer to his side, “fuck off, Carruthers.”

 

“God,” Tad drawls, “you try and welcome the black sheep back into the fold-”

 

Ronan makes a flapping motion at him, and Tad rolls his eyes and leaves. He turns back to Adam.

 

“I-” he begins, but Adam is already turning them back around to the art.

 

“Tell me about this one,” he says firmly, “is the hang significant?”

 

-

 

They don’t make it out and away without a few more encounters, though luckily none of them quite as uncomfortable as Tad. One of them is Henry.

 

“Lynch!” He calls from the drinks table as Ronan attempts to sneak the two of them past, “Long time no see!”

 

He can feel Adam glancing at him quickly, to gauge his reaction, knows that Adam will have already met Henry.

 

“And Parrish!” Henry continues, “What a glorious surprise!”

 

“Cheng,” Ronan says flatly, “what’re you doing here?”

 

“Supporting my fellow Henrys,” Henry replies happily, “what about you, Parrish? I didn’t think this would be your sort of scene, and with Lyn- oh, hello!” he interrupts himself as his gaze travels from Adam to their hands, and then he’s grinning. “I didn’t think this was your sort of scene either,” he adds.

 

“Well,” Adam says calmly, “I suppose you can be forgiven for misreading me seeing as we’ve only met briefly.”

 

Henry smiles, “Well thank you,” he says, doesn’t sound at all sarcastic about this, “I really do want to keep interrupting, but Lynch’s expression is telling me to beat it before he beats me, so au revoir, I’ll see you around!”

 

“Um,” Adam says, “bye.”

 

Henry’s off again, leaving the drinks table a little barer than before.

 

“Drink?” Adam asks Ronan, and Ronan actually has to pause and consider.

 

“No,” he decides on, “you go ahead if you want though.”

 

“Nah,” Adam shakes his head, “I don’t like to drink alone.”

 

“It’s not exactly as if you’re alone,” Ronan points out, “there’s a fuck load of other people drinking here.”

 

Adam shoots him a look, “Don’t act stupid,” he says, “it looks cute on you, but don’t anyway.”

 

Ronan snorts, navigates the two of them away from the drinks that are trying to persuade him to fuck shit up.

 

Next, they bump into a group of people that Ronan, for the life of him, cannot remember a single on of their names.

 

“Oh!” A woman with long plaited red hair says, “Ronan!”

 

Ronan pauses, isn’t sure if he ought to smile or escape.

 

“It’s great to see you,” she continues, waves back at a small group of people clustered in a tight knot in the middle of the throng, “we were just talking about you, actually!”  Whoever the fuck ‘we’ was.

 

“Oh?” Ronan asks, can’t stop his voice from coming out sharp, angry.

 

A man to the redhead's left grins widely at this, nudges the girl, “Exactly,” he says, “we were saying how you always came off vaguely terrifying, dude,” he says, “like your default expression was set to murder. It’s even more intense with your hair shaved off! Is that intentional like - or?”

 

“Probably,” he mutters.

 

“So why don’t we see you around anymore?” the man continues, “the studio’s a lot less cool without you in it, man.”

 

Ronan wants to roll his eyes, but he’s worried that if he lets them roll as much as he feels they need to right now, they’ll roll right out of his head.

 

“Right,” he says, “I left. I’m doing that again right now. Bye.”

 

There’s a few more pieces they hadn’t seen yet, but it was stifling in the gallery, and he was thirsty, and stiff with tension, and he doubted Adam would mind if they left without seeing everything.

 

“Dinner?” he asks as soon as they spill back out onto the street, “I could hear your stomach rumbling even over that music.”

 

“Is all art music like that?” Adam asks.

 

“Like what?” Ronan asks.

 

“Kinda-” Adam shrugs, “-waily?”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan snorts, “more or less. Have you not been to any openings before?”

 

“Haven’t had any reason to,” Adam shrugs.

 

“Usually people go for the art,” Ronan says, snide.

 

Adam is rolling his eyes at him. “Maybe,” he says, “I enjoyed the art. I wouldn’t have gone without you, though.”

 

“I appreciate it,” Ronan says quickly, before more sarcasm can escape his mouth, “you stepping out of your comfort zone to do something you thought I’d like.”

 

Adam smiles at him, squeezes his hand, “I’m sorry it wasn’t great,” he says, “I didn’t mean to take you into such a … confrontation.”

 

Ronan snorts, then shrugs, then sighs, then has no idea how he’s supposed to respond. Maybe he should whip his phone out and text him something sarcastic and unfeeling.

 

“It was-” he starts, sighs, begins again as they begin walking down the street towards the restaurant. “It was fine,” he says, “it was what I expected. And it was in no way you fault.”

 

Adam looks at him.

 

“But next time,” Ronan grins, “we’re gonna go to court or some shit and you can bore me with law talk.”

 

Adam snorts. “Please,” he says, “next time let’s do something you’ll enjoy. I enjoyed listening to you talk about art.”

 

“You don’t need to lie,” Ronan grins, “we’re out of there now, Parrish, you’re safe.”

 

“How are you such an asshole?” Adam asks, voice serious, face not, “I really did. You were excited about it, it was nice.”

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “whatever. Where’s this restaurant?”

 

The restaurant really was only a couple of blocks away from the gallery, and it wasn’t too crowded either, which was a welcome relief.

 

“Hey,” Ronan says once they’ve been shown to their table and given a menu each, “I’m paying tonight.”

 

“No,” Adam says calmly to his menu, “you’re not.”

 

“You chose the restaurant,” Ronan says, “so I pay. It’s the rules.”

 

Adam dips the menu just enough so Ronan can truly appreciate his sceptical expression. “I’m pretty sure you just made the rule up.”

 

“Maybe,” Ronan says, “but all rules have to be made up at some point.”

 

Adam laughs. It’s gratifying. “Ok,” he says eventually, “you choose where we eat next time.”

 

“Ok,” Ronan agrees, “get whatever you want, ok?”

 

“Are you trying to seduce me with expensive food?” Adam asks, doesn’t look up from the menu he’s pulled back up to cover his face.

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “is it working?”

 

“Nope,” Adam snorts, turns a page on the menu, “you can’t woo me with your money, Lynch.”

 

“Damn,” Ronan sighs, fiddles with the corners of his menu, “all my plans ruined.”

 

It goes surprisingly well. They order. They chat about meaningless topics, they joke about stupid things, Ronan steals food off of Adam’s plate and Adam only just misses stabbing his hand when he jokingly retaliates, Adam doesn’t pry into why Ronan is so uncomfortable with his classmates, or about the car crash Tad mentioned, or why he quit Uni.

It’s nice. It’s easy. It’s actually fun.

He’s still surprised when they leave the restaurant and Adam takes his hand again. Jumps slightly as Adam’s freezing fingers brush against his.

 

“Oh,” Adam says, jerks his hand back, “sorry, I shouldn’t’ve assumed-”

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, grabs for Adam’s hand, “your hands are just fucking cold is all.”

 

“Sorry,” Adam says again, less apologetic sounding now, “I have bad circulation.”

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, squeezes Adam’s hand, “it’s like holding onto ice cubes. How do you live like this?”

 

“Uncomfortably,” Adam replies easily, “your hands are so warm.”

 

“My nickname was the human furnace in highschool,” Ronan says.

 

“Really?”

 

“No,” Ronan snorts, “sorry. That was a lie. A dumb one. Most people just called me asshole.”

 

Adam snorts back, steps in close so he can hip check him, “you’re an idiot.”

 

“Yup,” Ronan says happily, “can I drive you back to yours?”

 

“I suppose,” Adam says, “that’d be nice.”

 

-

 

The drive is a lot shorter than Ronan would have liked, and when he pulls up outside Adam’s flat, they sit there in silence for a few moments.

 

“Um,” Adam says, “d’you wanna come in?”

 

Ronan’s mouth says the first thing his brain provides, which is rarely a useful thing, and is an extremely un-useful thing in this particular occasion.

 

“I’m not about to let you fuck me,” he says.

 

Adam snorts, then covers his mouth, “Ok, Lynch,” he says dryly, “I was gonna suggest tea or something? But I’m not sure how I’m gonna top that, now.”

 

“Well,” Ronan mutters, face burning, I just said you weren’t going to top that…so-”

 

Adam snorts again, buries his face in his hands, “God,” he groans, “you’re- you’re somethin’. I have no intentions of - of takin’ you t’bed,” he says into his hands, “chill out, ok?”

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. He’s mortified, and it’s taking all his brain power to try and act like he isn’t.

 

“So,” Adam says, straightening back up, “would you like to come up? Not for sex?”

 

He kind of really would.

 

“No,” he says, “I can’t. Gansey’s there right now. It’d be weird.”

 

“Why?” Adam asks, frowns, “does he not know we’re...hanging out tonight?”

 

“No,” Ronan says, “no, he does, just - uh. I don’t know, Parrish.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, undoes his seatbelt, “that’s fine, Lynch. Maybe next time. I had a really nice time,” he adds on, voice slipping from casual to somewhat awkward, “I - I’d like to do this again, sometime.”

 

“Same,” Ronan grunts to the windshield, “we can, uh, text about it I guess.”

 

Ok,” Adam says again, “goodnight, Lynch.”

 

“Night,” Ronan says, “say hi to Jane for me.”

 

“The cat or the Blue?” Adam asks with a grin, stands outside the car, leaning down to shut the door.

 

“Definitely the cat,” Ronan replies.

  


-

  


He texts Adam again when he gets home. Can’t bother holding off to look even vaguely cool. He’s long ago realised that only people who don’t know him think he’s cool. He wants Adam to know him.

 

9:30

-Did Dick and Jane jump you for information about tonight as soon as you walked in the door?

 

9:34

~I feel like everything I hear currently sounds like an innuendo and I’m blaming you.

~No. They were...busy.

 

9:35

-...gross.

 

9:36

~They stopped being busy as soon as I started talking to Jane Austen loudly in the kitchen though.

 

9:37

-Poor Dick. He probably thought I’d keep you out for longer.

-In a non-innuendo-ey way. More in a getting into fights way.

 

9:40

~Is it ok if I ask about your classmates?

 

9:42

-I suppose it’s fair you ask seeing as you were involved in their idiocy as well.

 

9:44

~I know they made you really uncomfortable though, so like, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’m just not going to lie that I’m curious about it.

 

9:45

-It’s probably not as exciting as you think it is.

 

9:46

~Well that might be for the best…

 

9:47

-Ok tell me about your crazy theory about me and my ex-classmates. Go on.

 

9:54

~Ok so you’re actually this retired superhero/vigilante type and so you always appeared really cool to your classmates because you had this vaguely unwashed, permanently exhausted, could kill a man with your pinky finger look about you, and then one day the university art department was attacked by a super villain (let’s say his name is Mr Collins) and to save everyone you have to reveal your true identity and after that you felt too uncomfortable to go back to uni with everyone knowing who you are even though the goverment branch of superheroes made evryone sign a secrecy waiver so they can’t talk to you about it bt you know they know, and they’re always trying to get a super rise out of you or some weird shit, and be your friend so they can be friends with a super.

 

10:00

-Oh my God.

-You’re such a fucking nerd.

-that’s a lot more exciting than the real story.

-So I’m gonna say that’s the real story now.

 

10:01

~Fair enough.

 

10:13

-The car crash Tad mentioned did happen. Kavinsky, the guy who crashed it, wasn’t my bf though. We were both high.

 

10:13

~Oh right.

~Not to sound insensitive, but which drugs?

 

10:15

-Honestly? I don’t know. He always just put shit in my drinks. Coke usually I think.

 

10:16

~Do you still use?

 

10:16

-No.

-I don’t even do weed.

-I don’t even smoke cigarettes.

-I quit everything.

-well I guess except alcohol.

 

10:17

~That’s really good to hear. And impressive too.

 

10:18

-Would you have dumped me on the spot, via texting, if I said I was still using?

 

10:19

~No.

~I’d probably have called you.

~God sorry, that was a joke.

~I don’t know what I would do.

~I’m not comfortable around drug use.

 

10:20

-Or alcohol, right?

 

10:21

~It depends.

 

10:22

-On?

 

10:23

~On what kind of drunk people turn into after drinking.

~I’m fine drinking with Gansey and Blue and Noah.

~Gansey gets cuddly and emotional about history, or more emotional, Blue gets about 70% more sarcastic, and Noah just wants his hair stroked and someone to kiss him.

 

10:24

-God don’t I know it.

 

10:25

~Have you?

 

10:26

-???

 

10:26

~Kissed Noah? Drunk or otherwise?

 

10:27

-The fuck?

 

10:27

~Sorry, that was a dumb question.

 

10:27

-I’ve kissed him a little. While we were both drunk. A very friendly kiss.

 

10:28

~Ok you have to tell me if his drunk kisses involve tongue, because he was trying to persuade Gansey to kiss him the other night and Gansey kept citing the summer of your last year at highschool for why he was never kissing Noah while drunk again.

 

10:29

-Um I think that was probably a reference to the pond incident.

 

10:30

~Please tell me.

 

10:31

-It’s exactly like it sounds. We were all drunk celebrating final exams of some shit, Noah got sloppy drunk and wanted kissing, Gansey forgot he was sitting next to a pond, they both got duck weed in their mouths.

 

10:32

~Gross.

 

10:33

-Indeed. And yeah. They involve tongue.

-I hope for his partners’ sake that there’s less tongue when he’s sober.

 

10:34

~Gross.

 

10:34

-What kind of drunk are you?

 

10:35

~I think I swing between way too confident and morbidly sad.

~And you text people about their cats.

 

10:36

-Just you.

 

10:36

~I feel special.

 

10:36

-You should. Asshole#5

  


-

  


Saturday arrives with texts from Declan.

  


Saturday

8:42 (am)

>Are we going together to see mum on Sunday?

 

8:50

-obviously.

 

8:51

>Do you want to do mass beforehand?

 

8:51

-no

 

8:51

>Matthew really wants to.

 

8:52

-So matty can go.

 

8:52

>He wants US to go. With him.

>Mum would love for us to all go to mass together.

>Let’s just try and make her happy.

 

8:53

-oh fuck off. Mum isn’t gonna give a fuck. Mum doesn’t understand anything we tell her. She wont give a fuck so stop trying to use her to fucking guilt trip me into doing shit.

 

8:54

>Please?

 

8:54

-No. I’ll do lunch with you guys.

 

9:00

>Fine.

>I’ll pick you up at 9:30 on Sunday?

 

9:01

-yeah fuck no. I’ll meet you there. At 10.

 

9:01

>Fine.

  


-

  


He mostly wants to go back to sleep now, but it’s not happening, so he lies in his twisted sheets until he’s bored of trying to decide whether or not to bother wrapping his mum’s present. He stomps his way out of his bedroom, mostly because it’s a good tension release, partially because he wants to know if Gansey is home, and if Gansey is home he’ll yell at Ronan to stop thumping because he’s worried about the piles.

There is no yelling in response, so Ronan thumps a little more out of sheer vindictiveness. He really wants coffee. He also really doesn’t want to make the coffee. He should probably eat. He doesn’t want to eat.

 

9:36

-what should i have for breakfast.

 

9:40

~Pretty sure you’re a big boy who can figure this out by yourself.

 

9:41

-I’m having a food crisis.

 

9:41

~Oh really. What’s a food crisis?

 

9:42

-well in this case it’s the fact that Gansey isn’t here to make me eat breakfast.

 

9:43

~He’s right here, I could tell him to call if you want ;)

 

9:44

-Ugh.

 

9:45

~I can’t really help, honestly, I’m eating an apple and a handful of raisins that Blue poured into my hand before she left.

 

9:46

-Is it just you and Gans chilling out eating breakfast there?

 

9:47

~Yeah Noah got home late and is still asleep.

~It’s a little awkward. Only because Gansey is attempting to word his way through apologising for the uh raucous sex, but without saying the word sex.

 

9:47

-Here is your challenge for the morning. Make Gansey say the word sex. Also cock, for bonus points.

 

9:48

~What’s my reward? ;)

 

9:49

-Is that intended to be suggestive?

 

9:50

~Maybe.

 

9:51

-I could kiss you.

 

9:56

~Do I have to have vocal evidence of this or will you just take me by my word? I’m wondering how to sneakily record Gansey while also goading him into saying sex.

 

9:57

-Your word will do. But you have to tell me how you got Gansey to say it.

 

10:16

~I asked him what he thought about the phrase ‘the fairer sex’, and he shuddered, turned to me and said, “‘the fairer sex’ is not a phrase to use around Jane, even in ignorance.”

~Does that count?

 

10:20

-I guess I owe you a kiss.

 

10:21

~:)

  


-

  


Lunchtime brings an inexplicable distaste of all the food currently in the house, and more unwelcome texts. This time from an unknown number.

 

*(unknown)

1:09 (pm)

* Hey Lynch! Was good to see you the other day. You’re a hard man to track down! No one has your number! You should come to my art show on sunday.

 

1:40

-If this is Tad, fuck off.

 

1:41

*Haha dude, how did you know it was me? It’s at the gallery ‘boombox’ on Richardson st, by the sushi place from first year? There’ll be lots of boooze!!!!

 

1:45

*C’mon Lynch! You’ll have a great time.

*You can bring your new boyyyy

*No drugs at the party though, hahahaha

 

1:59

*Look hear me out, no one knows where the fuck you disappeared off to? You have any idea how much cooler people will think I am if you come to my opening?

 

2:07

-Who the fuck gave you my number, Carruthers?

 

2:09

*Oh hey! I was beginning to worry you were ignoring me!

 

2:10

-Who.

 

2:11

*Ah that weird kid who hangs around your ex. Prowenko? Propokenko?

 

2:17

-Not my fucking ex. I’m blocking your number.

  


-

  


He’s never given Prokopenko his fucking number. Which either means that Kavinsky gave it to him ages back, or when Tad came around asking, Proko just went and fucking got the number of K right then and there. This would usually piss him off, but mixed with the fact that K very cheerfully informed him he was planning on fucking him up in the near future meant that he was pissed off and a little freaked out. Maybe a lot freaked out. He wants Gansey to come the fuck home already so he can debrief with him about the date, and about the fucking art gallery, and also just in general. Plus he wanted dinner and he didn’t want to order in and he didn’t want to cook.

 

He considers texting Gansey.

Calls him instead.

 

“When are you coming home?” He asks before Gansey can greet him.

 

“Uh,” Gansey replies, “now?”

 

“Ok. Will you make food?”

 

“I could pick something up on the way?” Gansey suggests.

 

“We have food here,” Ronan mumbles, and Gansey laughs at him.

 

“That’s my line. Fine. I’ll cook if you actually help out instead of just watching. Be home in like 15. Ok?”

 

“Sure.” he hangs up.

  


-

 

Gansey gets home in 23 minutes almost exactly, announces his arrival by tossing the keys into the bowl which jingle merrily, and then crash loudly. Gansey swears louder.

 

“The fuck?” Ronan calls from his room. He’s hanging upside down off of his bed, and when Gansey appears in his doorway, he seems to loom grumpily above him. He’s holding one of the wax fruit. A very … wrecked looking wax fruit.

 

“I destroyed a pear,” he says mournfully.

 

Laughing while hanging upside down only vaguely sounds like a good idea, and very quickly proves to be, in fact, a bad idea as he laughs himself off the side of the bed.

  


-

  


“Ok,” Gansey says once the cackling has finished, the pear has been disposed of, and the coffee is brewing, “how was your date? Adam was in a really good mood this morning.”

 

“It was good,” Ronan says, non-committal.

 

Gansey turns to glare at him.

 

“I know you want to tell me about it,” he says, “I could not ask about it and then you’ll just pop from not talking about it frustration.”

 

“Fine,” Ronan huffs, “I really - I like him. Ok?”

 

Gansey snorts, attempts to pretend it was the coffee machine. “So you guys went to an art gallery?”

 

“Uh-huh. It was the opening of one of my old tutor’s work. Millicent Harper.”

 

“Ah,” Gansey says, “bump into a lot of people?”

 

“Fucking Carruthers,” Ronan grunts, “trying to get all the details on why I left, and on the … car crash. Also Cheng. Tell him to be less of a dumbass. Plus a bunch of people who I didn’t recognise but all recognised me. I don’t know. There were other people I knew there, but I don’t think a lot of them realised who I was. Or they did, but knew to keep away.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Gansey says, moves to get mugs, “so - was that awkward with Adam there?”

 

“Mm,” Ronan mumbles, shrugs, “yeah. But it was ok. He was uh - holding my hand? So? It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

 

Gansey’s grin is altogether too big to be allowed in such a small kitchen.

 

“Stop that,” Ronan hisses, “stop it. It’s terrifying.”

 

“You held hands?” Gansey says happily, “At an art gallery? That’s romantic, Ronan.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Did you kiss in the rain too?”

 

“It wasn’t even fucking raining, Gansey. We haven’t kissed,” Ronan grumbles, “how far off is the coffee?”

  


-

  


“You have plans with your brothers tomorrow, right?” Gansey asks after coffee, once they’ve crammed back into the kitchen together to prepare dinner. Gansey is chopping spinach, Ronan is mixing omelettes.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, stirs the eggs too hard and gets yolk on his shirt, “meeting at mum’s at 10.”

 

“And after that?” Gansey asks, tosses the dishcloth at Ronan’s shoulder.

 

“We’ll get lunch,” Ronan sighs, “and then we’ll probably piss off to our separate abodes. How long will you be away for?”

 

“You know I’m flying out tonight, yeah?” Gansey checks, Ronan nods, “and I’ll be back probably about 6 on Monday morning, in time to drop my stuff off and go to class. You’ll be ok?”

 

“Thinking of hiring me a babysitter?” Ronan sneers, moves from egg whisking to garlic slicing, “I don’t think you could pay anyone enough.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Gansey says, slides the spinach along with a couple of handfuls of button mushrooms into the pan, “pass me the butter. Can we try to have you respond to my genuine worry without sarcasm, maybe just once a day?”

 

Ronan tosses him the butter.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, “don’t get all Gansey about it.”

 

“You’ll call me if you’re not coping, right?” he asks, turns the stove on, “Or Calla? Or Matthew?”

 

“Sure,” Ronan sighs, “I’ll call someone.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“I fucking swear.”

 

-

 

11:18 (pm)

~(image attached)

~Your fiance says goodnight x

 

11:19

-(image attached)

-my room is dark but this is a picture of me. I’m either saying goodnight or pulling the finger, your pick.

 

11:19

~I pick xxx

  


-

  


#(Matty)

Sunday

7:38 (am)

#Do you think mum’ll mind if I only bring her flowers? I got her some really nice ones but now I”m worried it won’t be enough. What do you think?

 

7:40

-I think it’s too early for you to be texting me.

-Mum will love your flowers.

-You don’t need to get her anything else.

 

7:43

#Declan says we’re meeting you there, does that mean you won’t come to lunch with us afterwards?

 

7:52

-I’m coming to lunch with you guys, matty. I just want to drive by myself.

 

7:55

#Will you come back with us to Declan’s afterwards?

 

8:00

-We’ll see.

  


-

  


He gets there a bit too early, which is fine, it gives him a bit of time to breathe, to curl his hands up into fists, and to resist punching things.

Matthew hugs him when he arrives, Declan nods. They all go in together.

  


Aurora is in her usual chair. Someone’s pinned her hair back and put a flower in it, ostensibly to try and brighten her up for mother’s day, or her birthday. She doesn’t look like she realises it’s there.

  


“Happy Birthday, mum!” Matthew says almost before he’s even walked into the room, bounds close to her and then pauses a metre away from the chair. He’s too tactile for this, for not being able to hug his mother. “I brought you your favourite flowers,” he says, “and Dec and Ronan are here too! I’ll put your flowers over on the window sill.”

 

“Mother,” Declan says, “it’s good to see you.”

 

Declan stays standing, Matthew drops down on his ass, leans back against Declan’s legs, looks up at their mother. Ronan hesitates in the doorway.

 

“Come on, come in, Ronan,” Declan says, almost kindly.

 

“Hi mum,” Ronan mumbles, “I’ve brought you some poetry. You probably already read all this stuff, but I don’t remember seeing it at the house, so, uh, I thought maybe Dec could read some to you while we’re here?”

 

“I could what?” Declan asks, “What’s the poetry?”

 

“T.S Eliot,” Ronan mumbles, passes the book over to Declan. It’s not like there’s any point it passing it to their mother, she wouldn’t hold on to it, wouldn’t look at it.

 

“Oh,” Declan says, turns the book round to read the back, then flips it open. “Ok, I can read some of this, let me sit down.”

  


-

  


Lunch after seeing their mother together is always strange. It’s a mixture of feeling almost close to Declan again, and a feeling that he can never have any part of his family back. Not the way it used to be. Not in anyway close. The best thing about the three of them having lunch together is that Declan doesn’t ask anything too nosy while Matthew is around. The worst thing is that Matthew is always so fucking pleased to have all of them together, he always winds himself up into believing that Ronan and Declan can spend more than half an hour in each other’s presence without snapping, and is therefore always deeply disappointed when it turns out to be false.

 

The worst thing about being with his brothers, about seeing his mother, is that Ronan also half believes it. That things could be ok.

 

At least he hasn’t stormed out of the restaurant. At least Declan hasn’t cussed him out. At least Matthew hasn’t looked to be on the verge of tears. At least Ronan managed to keep himself together until Declan had driven himself and Matthew away.

 

Gansey was right that Declan was a good pick for reading the poetry aloud. Ronan hadn’t really thought much further on it, hadn’t come to the realisation that Declan reading poetry would sound so much like their father telling stories. It wasn’t a fun realisation to come to while trying to keep a happy face on for their mother and Matthew’s sake.

 

Too many memories, too many regrets, too many fucking fuck ups.

  


-

  


1:28

-Are you at home?

 

1:32

~No I’m at work. Mechanics.

 

1:32

-It’s a sunday afternoon. Why are you still open?

 

1:35

~We’re technically not. Not for public, I still have a shift though.

 

1:35

-Just you in?

 

1:36

~Yeah, Andrew left at 12.

 

1:36

-Can I come see you?

 

1:37

~Is it to deliver my reward?

 

1:38

-It could be…

 

1:39

~You probably wanna wait til I’m clean, tbh.

~But yeah, come over, so long as you don’t mind me half ignoring you in favour of actually working.

~It’s Bolts and Bobs on Featherston st.

~text me when you get here and I’ll come let you in through the office.

 

-

 

2:01

-I’m here.

  


-

  


“Hey,” Adam greets him as he pulls the door open. Doesn’t linger in the doorway, steps back and then turns to walk back through the office and out into the garage, leaving Ronan to follow behind. He does, after checking the door shuts behind him.

 

“How long is your shift?” Ronan asks as Adam settles back down on a pallet beside a mini car, “When do you get off?”

 

“Uh,” Adam says, he’s searching through a tool belt, doesn’t continue until he finds a small screwdriver and tugs it out, “I get off at 3. Do you have plans for this afternoon? Wanna get a coffee or something after?”

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, drops himself down onto the cold concrete floor, leans in over his knees.

 

They sit together in silence for a good 5 minutes. Silence, that is, apart from the constant clicking and grinding that Adam and his tools are making. Adam doesn’t break the silence, but he must have come to some sort of conclusion, because he’s put his screwdriver back down and swivveled on his pallet to look at Ronan.

 

“Yeah?” Ronan asks. He’s resting his face on his knee, can only see Adam from the corner of his eye.

 

“You good?” Adam asks.

 

“Yup,” Ronan replies, “just - needed to not be alone.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “that’s fine. Want me to talk? Or would you prefer we just stayed quiet?”

 

“If you wan-” Ronan begins, sighs, “yeah,” he says, “if you could talk.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says again, turns back round to the car and selects another tool, “when I was 9 and I broke my arm for the first time, I decided that I needed to teach myself how to be ambidextrous in case I ever broke my right arm. It turns out that I’m just not cut out for the ambidextrous lifestyle. When I did break my right arm when I was 13, God, it was - well my handwriting was truly horrifying.”

 

“I see this still haunts you,” Ronan says, “is this your only failing? Because it sounds like it.”

 

Adam laughs, shakes his head, fiddles with some wiring for a few seconds. “If they gave out awards for failure, I’d have a whole room for them,” he says, “but you are right in thinking that is my most haunting failure yet.”

 

“Whereabouts in Henrietta did you live?” Ronan asks after a few more moments of silence, “before the catholic church - hang on a fucking second, that wasn’t St Agnes was it?”

 

“Um,” Adam says, looks over his shoulder at Ronan, eyebrows raised, “yeah, it was. Why?”

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “that’s my church. I mean, not mine, the church I went to. My whole family went to. When did you say you lived there?”

 

“Last two years of highschool,” Adam says, “I wasn’t there a lot, though. Was working most of the time.”

 

“Not much has changed, then,” Ronan teases, and the laugh he gets in reply is suddenly a little too self deprecating.

 

“No, not much,” Adam says.

 

“So,” Ronan remembers his previous question, “where did you live?”

 

“God,” Adam says to the mini, “you know where that uh - trailer park was? Is?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“There. I lived there. In a trailer.”

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “ok. How was that?”

 

“Awful,” Adam says flatly, “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, understands taboo topics, “when did you get Jane?”

 

“What is this?” Adam snorts, “The Spanish Inquisition? I got her when I moved into the city here. She was my ‘good job on escaping’ present from Blue.”

 

“So,” Ronan says, shuffles his feet against concrete, his legs pushed out in front of him now, “how come we never met you til this year? If you and Blue have known each other so long and you’ve lived around here for so long?”

 

“I-” Adam begins, then shrugs, puts his tool back down and pushes himself up into standing, stretches luxuriously, “I suppose I’ve always been too busy. It’s not through lack of trying on Blue’s behalf, I just haven’t really had time to seek friends outside my immediate social circle.”

 

“And you do now?” Ronan asks sardonically, gestures with his head at their surroundings, and Adam snorts at him, crosses the short distance between them to drop himself down next to Ronan.

 

“Not really,” he admits, “I’m not regretting it though.”

 

“There’s still time,” Ronan says reassuringly.

 

“Hey,” Adam says, his eyes seem glued to his knees, “I - you wouldn’t actually be grossed out by getting a little bit of oil on you right now, would you?”

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, “no.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says, leans in, “can I?”

 

“Mh,” Ronan says, “yes.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says again, leans in a bit closer, lifts one hand to cup Ronan’s cheek with cool callused fingers that reek of gas in the very best way.

 

Ronan has absolutely definitely been kissed before. This still manages to feel like his first kiss. Not by being sloppy and awkward, or clashing teeth or missing mouths, more because he feels like it’s going to be something he remembers forever. Something that has the potential to change things.

 

He’s probably overthinking this too much.

 

It’s just a kiss. And it’s just a little bit perfect. It’s just Adam’s chapped lips, dry and cold, pressing to his and rewiring his brain just a tiny bit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have no self control so this fic has massively expanded. It will not exceed 6 chapters, but it's definitely going to be more than 3 chapters now.

 

They mean to go out for coffee after Adam’s finished with the mini, but instead Adam takes Ronan back to his. Well, technically Ronan takes them back to Adam’s, seeing as he’s driving, but. 

  
  


“Now,” Adam says as they pull up outside his flat, “we keeping this a secret from your fiance?” 

 

“Why?” Ronan asks, pulls the handbrake into place, “You think she’ll be jealous?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam replies promptly, undoes his seatbelt, “I would be.” 

 

“Maybe I ought to tell her I’m gay,” Ronan sighs, undoes his own seat belt, “I think she’d understand that this is best for all of us.” 

 

“Maybe you should,” Adam says, grins widely at him, and Ronan’s stomach does a very embarrassing little flip flop. His stomach should fucking stay in its lane. It’s only a smile, he’s kissed this guy now, a smile shouldn’t effect him this much. “Shall we go up, then?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, follows Adam out of the car, into the building, to his flat. Would probably follow him most places if he was allowed. 

  
  


“Blue’s with her mum and aunts today,” Adam says as he unlocks the door, “and Noah’s away until tuesday because it’s his sister’s birthday on monday as well.” 

 

“Are you trying to tell me that the house will be nice and empty so I can stoke Ms Austen as much as I like?” 

 

“Hey,” Adam snorts, steps inside, “I invited you up for hot beverages, not inappropriate comments. Leave that at the door, thanks.” 

 

“Aw,” Ronan says, “that’s like 98% of my personality-” 

 

“I’ll bring your drink out to you,” Adam teases, then grins wider, and walks off inside leaving Ronan to follow him. 

  
  


Ronan, of course, follows. 

 

 

-

  
  


Over hot chocolate and shortbread, Ronan discovers that the best way to avoid topics about himself is to ask Adam about the subjects he’s studying.

While Adam appeared hesitant at first to talk about it - as if he was shy of talking himself up too much, or wary of sharing too much about himself - as soon as Ronan smiled and insisted that he really was interested in hearing about his classes, Adam threw himself into it. 

 

It was extremely complicated.

Ronan was reasonably certain that Adam had simply gone through the course list, picked out the hardest looking classes, and then signed up to all of them. Adam laughed this idea off, threw shortbread at him, told him he just wanted to be able to make it to somewhere stable. Somewhere where he would have the capability to help other people without draining himself. 

 

It might not be the most interesting topic of conversation in the world, at least certainly not for Ronan, but Adam was enthusiastic about it, and Ronan was enthusiastic about Adam’s enthusiasm, so it worked until they had finished the entire packet of biscuit and their hot drinks. 

  
  


“So,” Ronan begins, in what he hopes is a seductive voice, but he’s pretty sure is falling under the category of ‘weedy’, as Adam returns to the lounge after taking their mugs to the kitchen, “I still owe you that reward.”

 

Adam raises his eyebrows, returns to sit back on the couch next to Ronan. Jane Austen trots into the room, joins them on the couch, and settles down in Adam’s lap. 

 

“I suppose you do,” he agrees, “seeing as I kissed you earlier.” 

 

“I mean,” Ronan shrugs, “we kissed each other, but as you initiated it I don’t think I can claim it as me kissing you.” 

 

“No,” Adam nods seriously, scratches his chin, “you’re absolutely right.” 

 

“I want to - uh - clear my debt,” Ronan says clunkily, winces at how stupid he sounds. Adam smiles at him. 

 

“Go ahead then,” he says easily, and it does just seem so easy to Adam. It had been so easy for him at the mechanics to come closer, to ask for permission, to kiss Ronan. 

 

“In front of Jane?” Ronan asks with as much horror as he can inflect, and Adam snorts loudly, rubs his fingers through the fur on Jane’s back, and cocks his head to one side. 

 

“We could ask her to leave if you want,” he says, “but I think it’s probably best for her to know the truth sooner rather than later, don’t you?” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, shuffles closer on the couch, “I suppose.” 

 

“If I were Jane,” Adam mumbles, his eyes are fixed on Ronan’s lips, “I would want to know.” 

 

“You talk such… nonsense,” Ronan replies stupidly, leans in further, propping himself up against the couch with his arm slung over the back of it, ducks his head down until his nose brushes against Adam’s, can’t bring himself to move close. The thrill in his stomach feels a little too close to the clench of anxiety.

 

“I talk nonsense?” Adam asks, lifts his hand from Jane to Ronan’s face, then slides his fingers up and around the nape of his neck, “You started it.” 

 

“Kiss me?” Ronan asks, feeling quite helpless. As if Adam is holding him down just with his fingers and his eyes. 

 

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Adam says, pulls back a little so as to see Ronan’s face a little clearer, “you can kiss me.” 

 

Ronan snorts, it’s the best he can do right now. He turns his face against Adam’s hand until his cheek is caught in the palm of it, presses a light kiss to the inside of his wrist instead as his stomach clenches tighter. He lets Adam move his hand away, lets him cup him by the chin to pull his face back up to face him. 

 

“You don’t want to?” Adam asks. 

 

Of fucking course he wants to. He’s not really sure how to use his words to explain the inexplicable fear he’s feeling over being the one leaning in and kissing. Like someone who knows how to kiss without biting, without burning alcohol, without regret. It feels like a lie, but so does feeling like it’s a lie. 

 

“I do,” Ronan objects, stares at Adam’s lips now because it’s much easier than staring back into Adam’s eyes which are simultaneously soft and challenging, and much too pretty to be allowed. 

 

“Do you want me to?” Adam asks next, and Ronan wonders if it’s possible that God had indeed been receiving all his prayers, and had just been saving them all up for this particular day. For this particular beautiful man who actually seems to want to kiss him. 

 

“I do,” Ronan says again, looks to Adam’s eyes as Adam closes the distance between them again. This is easier. This is better. This is Adam leading the kiss and setting the level of force at gentle, the speed at slow, the intensity at way too fucking high to handle. He kisses like he’s studied it for years just as devotedly as it sounds like he’s studied for university. He kisses like he’s planning to leave the room with a PHD and 20 job offers all starting at $80K. Ronan has to pull away from the kiss to gasp for breath because kissing like that apparently makes him forget he can also breathe through his fucking nose. 

 

Jane Austen makes a noise of irritation at this inelegant gasping, leaps off of Adam’s lap, and escapes the room. 

 

“You good?” Adam asks, the tips of his ears are pink, his lips are wet. 

 

Ronan closes his eyes, leans back in towards Adam so he can rest his face against the crook of his shoulder. 

 

“Fuck yes,” he says, then, “please tell me you won a scholarship for kissing too, because, damn.” 

 

Adam laughs at him, wraps one arm around Ronan’s waist, and his other, clunky in its cast, round Ronan’s shoulders. 

 

“Maybe,” he says, then, “was that too much?” 

 

“No,” Ronan replies immediately, mouth pressed against Adam’s neck so his words come out vaguely mushed, pressed into skin like a slow motion kiss, “it was great. I just haven’t - uh - I haven’t been kissed in a while- haven’t been kissed like that in a while. Or ever. Or - God, no, I’m shutting up.” 

 

Adam laughs again, squeezes his arms around Ronan tighter, presses his lips to the top of Ronan’s head, “I’m flattered,” he says, “can we - can we continue?” He sounds unsure suddenly, despite Ronan’s glowing commendation of his skills, “Do you want that?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says with sincerity, pulls away from Adam’s skin, “yes.” 

 

He pushes at Adam’s chest until Adam gets the message and shifts his legs up, shuffles himself back until he can lie down against the cushions on the arm of the couch, so Ronan can swing his legs over Adam’s hips and press his chest down against Adam’s, and then to be struck again by the same stupid crippling fear with his lips all but brushing Adam’s. It had probably been a bad idea to push into this position so quickly. For Ronan to be on top like this. He wants to be led. Can’t lead right now.

 

“Hey,” Adam says against his lips, lifts his hand to brush lightly against Ronan’s jawline, “we don’t have to.” 

 

“Um,” Ronan replies, well aware that they’re basically already kissing, “um,” he says again, “kiss me.” 

 

He waits for the eye rolling, the sighing, the implications of ‘pillow princesses’. Instead he gets Adam’s hands tugging him down into a real kiss, not just a press of lips, gets Adam held underneath him but still undeniably in control.  

 

-

 

Afterwards,when it does get all too much, they order pizza and watch some crappy tv on Adam’s battered laptop together specifically to make fun of it, and Ronan sits on the edge of his seat and waits for Adam to ask the question he asks after dropping the empty pizza box on the ground. 

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, casual, eyes still on the laptop screen even though it’s only credits now. 

 

“About what?” Ronan deflects immediately. 

 

“About your - about how your freak out just a bit and can’t kiss me first?” Adam replies, a lot more bluntly than Ronan been expecting.

 

Ronan scoffs, folds his arms tightly around himself. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early in our… uh - relationship to talk about shit?” he replies, and Adam scoffs back at him. 

 

“Ok,” he says easily, leans back against the couch cushions, curling in on himself on his side so he’s tilted towards Ronan, “maybe a few more dates in, then.”

 

“Maybe,” Ronan offers, unbends his stiff position enough to lean in towards Adam as well. 

 

“I have to go to a party on Wednesday,” Adam says, his hand has found Ronan’s again, fingertips brushing against his knuckles, “will you come with me?” 

 

“As your date?” Ronan clarifies, “As a date for us? Y’know, when I said next time we should do something more your scene I didn’t mean we should do something I would hate.” 

 

Adam is rolling his eyes at him. .

 

“You can say no,” he says, amusement and exasperation equal in his voice.

 

“No,” Ronan says immediately, “I want to come. You’re asking me on a date. I”m saying yes, obviously, God Parrish, aren’t you meant to be smart? Read between the lines.” 

 

Adam is rolling his eyes at him again. 

 

“Ok,” he says, now his voice is exasperation and fondness, “I hate parties too. We can stand in the corner and make fun of people together.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Ronan smiles, leans in closer, still can’t make himself fucking close the gap between them to kiss Adam, what the fuck. 

 

Adam kisses him. 

 

-

 

10:45 (pm)

-I’m crashing over in your bed. Gonna eat your chocolate stash. 

 

10:51

+Why?

+Leave my chcoolatea alone!!!!!

+OMG because of Adam yeah?

+Why aren’t you just astaying in Adam’s room with him?

 

10:53

-Because we’ve only just started dating, God, Noah. 

-your chocolate belongs to me now. 

 

10:53

+nooooooo

+ah my sweet catholic boy. 

 

10:54

-Not all of us feel the need to stick our dicks in things as soon as we realise we like them. 

 

10:55

+Am offended. 

+Muchly 

+I suppose it’s probably too much anyway though seeing as you havent even helf his hand yet have you? 

 

11:01

->:)

 

11:01

+You just sent me an emoticon. 

+Wtf

+you guys held hands?

+you guys did more than hold hands?S

+Ronan please i have no drama here i need to heare about your romance life come on tell me everything is adam a good kisser do your hands fit perfectly together did you try and stick your hwole fucking tongue in his mouth like that one time you did with me in first year because youre an idiot and wanted o know if itd work?

 

11:03

-I don’t know why I ever talk to you.

-We’ve been kissing.

-He kissed me today. 

-it was so fucking nice.

-don’t put this on your fucking blog.

-and stop cooing at me. I know you’re doing it. 

 

11:04

+I have no idea what you’re talking about. 

+Honestly I’m surprised Adam was the one wo initiated he just doesn’t seem like the kind who’d make the first move

+But I guess he is a go getter so that does make sense doesn’t it?

 

11:05

-He’s the one who asked me out it the first place you know. 

 

11:06

+THIS IS WHY YOU NEED TO TELL ME THESE THINGS AS THEY HAPPEN GOD LYNCH I JUST WANT TO HEAR ALL YOUR GOSSIP AND BE ABLE TO PRY INTO ALL YOUR ROMANTIC ENDEVOURS TELL ME VERYTHING PLEASE AND THANK YOU

 

11:07

-Hm. Maybe later. 

-Gtg i’m eating your chocolate. 

 

11:08

+You’re sych an ass. 

+Lleave me some

+dickhead

+love ya

 

-

 

Adam lets Ronan drive him to class, which is nice because it means they can eat their breakfast (popcorn and dried apricots) with minimal rushing about, and nice because it means they get to that thing where Ronan pulls up at uni and Adam leans over and kisses him goodbye like they’ve done this a million times before and will do it a million times again. 

 

However, the next thing that happens is that Gansey yanks open the driver side door of the BMW and yells, making the both of them jump in their seats. This is quite a bit less nice.

 

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?” Gansey yells, it’s obvious, just by the fact that he’s actually yelling, that he is entirely stressed out and far past the point of maintaining his careful exterior. “I’ve been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea how freaked out I’ve been? You weren’t home, and you obviously hadn’t been home, and your car was gone, and Declan texted me - Declan texted me to say you were in a - you were upset and I was terrified you had gone out to Kav- in - oh. Hello, Adam.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “Gansey.” 

 

“Don’t be such a fucking -” Ronan begins, has to cough to clear his throat, “why would you fucking - I can’t believe you - you - you, fuck off Gansey.” 

 

“God,” Gansey says, not fucking off, in fact, leaning further into the car, “is your phone turned off? Did you stay the night at Adam’s?”

 

“Gansey,” Ronan hisses, “get the fuck out of my car. I’m going home now, you fucking evil stepmother.” 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey tries again, and Ronan sets his jaw, turns to Adam still in the passenger seat looking excessively uncomfortable and clutching his bag. 

 

“Sorry,” he says stiffly, “I’ll text you?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says slowly, shifts his back to his shoulder and opens the car door, “I’ll be finished classes at 2. You can text before that though.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says shortly. Watches at Adam climbs out of the car and heads off to class, partly so he can avoid looking at Gansey who’s still looming at his side, and partly because Adam has long legs and a really nice ass. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, and his voice has finally notched down from panicked to apologetic. 

 

Ronan continues to stare in the direction that Adam left in, doesn’t want to even look at Gansey’s dumb face right now. 

 

“I know it’s not exactly as if I have a perfect track record in not fucking shit up,” Ronan says to the empty seat, “but a little bit of trust might have been nice. I’m going to fucking therapy. I’m trying, I’m really trying, Gansey, I’m trying to make shit ok again. I’m not going to just go back to Kavinsky now.”

 

“Sorry,” Gansey says, “Ro-” 

 

“And,” Ronan continues brusquely, his throat hurts, “thank you so fucking much for revealing how useless I am in front of Adam, I had been kind of hoping to have that be more of a slow reveal so as not to freak him out, but I guess, whatever.” 

 

There’s a long silence, and then Gansey shuts the door and Ronan spends a horrible moment thinking that Gansey is just leaving him like this. Then Gansey is walking around the car and climbing into Adam’s empty seat, and shutting the door behind him again. 

 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Gansey says, voice low, “and I - I shouldn’t have automatically assumed the worse. I am sorry. I just get scared. I know you’re working on this, and I trust you, it’s just-”

 

There probably isn’t any nice way to say that it’s just that Ronan has a habit of not being trustworthy with himself, so Gansey doesn’t say it and he doesn’t need to. 

 

“I know,” Ronan grits out, slams his head back against the headrest, “fuck, Gans.” 

 

“I called you 26 times,” Gansey says, a little guiltily, “I might have overreacted, but, Ro, I actually don’t care if me overreacting makes me look dumb, or if it makes you angry at me, because I would prefer that a million times over than for...something to happen.” 

 

Ronan slams his head back again, shuts his eyes. “I know.” 

 

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Gansey continues, “I don’t want us to pretend like it’s not the simplest thing to slip just a little. I want to - I want to be here for you.” 

 

“I stayed the night at Adam’s,” Ronan says, “in Noah’s room. I should have texted you and told you, if I’d thought about it I would have realised you would have been worried about coming home to find me not home.” He still can’t make himself look at Gansey. 

 

“Really,” Gansey sighs, “I ought to have just texted Adam. He doesn’t have such a tempestuous relationship with his phone.” 

 

“Are you going to class?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Are you asking this because you want me to leave or because you want to hang?” Gansey shoots back. 

 

“Hang,” Roan scoffs, “We’re not teenagers. I’m asking because you’re going to be late to class now anyway, and I haven’t had coffee yet this morning.” 

 

-

  
  


“So,” Gansey says back at their flat. They’re lounging on the couch, coffee in hand, feet up, “you stayed over at Adam’s last night?” 

 

“In Noah’s room,” Ronan clarifies sharply, “don’t you give me that look, Richard Gansey.” 

 

“I wasn’t giving you any look,” Gansey says cheerfully, sips from his coffee, “I’m merely making conversation here.” 

 

“Like hell you are,” Ronan snorts, “I know you’re digging for information.” 

 

“And I know,” Gansey shoots back, “that you want to give it.” 

 

Ronan snorts again, busies himself with blowing on his coffee and swinging his legs up into Gansey’s lap. 

 

“I can’t kiss him,” he says before he can stop himself, pours coffee into his mouth so he doesn’t have to see Gansey’s expression. 

 

“What do you mean?” Gansey asks, “Is this some rule Adam’s made or something?” 

 

What does Ronan mean. He doesn’t know. 

 

“The fuck,” he snaps, “no. We’ve - uh - he’s been kissing me. We’ve been kissing. That’s fine. It’s great, or whatever, it’s just that I-” he has to stop to heave an aggressively heavy sigh and to glower at the ceiling, “-I can’t kiss him.” 

 

“Um,” Gansey says, pokes at Ronan’s calf, “I’m not sure I follow.” 

 

“Neither the fuck do I,” Ronan snaps back unhelpfully, “fuck, Gans.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says slowly, pokes Ronan again and then wraps his hand around Ronan’s ankle, half in a comforting move, half to dissuade Ronan for kicking him in response to the poking, “ok, fill me in a little more. You can’t kiss him, because-?” 

 

“Because I’m freaked out,” Ronan replies promptly, that’s about all he knows for sure. 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says again, “and you’re freaked out, because-?” 

 

“Because - because - Ugh.” 

 

“Because-” Gansey begins, voice cautious, “-you’ve never actually kissed anyone you like?” 

 

It’s actually not fair that Gansey can say this sort of thing so calmly and with such accuracy. It makes Ronan want to kick him in the face. Luckily for Gansey, he’s pre-emptively protected himself from this, is still gripping tightly to Ronan’s ankle. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan admits angrily, “it’s such a fucking stupid thing, God, I can kiss him back perfectly fine, it’s not as if I’m fucking lying there like a useless dead fish while he’s kissing me it’s just that I can’t fucking finish leaning into kiss him first because-? Because I’m an idiot with, God, I don’t know, trust issues? Kissing issues? A general abhorrence of letting people in?” 

 

“Hm,” Gansey says, gestures between the two of them, “I think you’re doing pretty good on the letting people in front.” 

 

“You’re an exception,” Ronan snaps back, “you’re too irritatingly earnest to bother pretending to not have feelings in front of anymore.” 

 

“I appreciate that,” Gansey smiles, squeezes Ronan’s ankle, “ok, so, you’re scared of kissing Adam because you actually like him, and you feel like if you kiss him you’re admitting you like him and then you’re more likely to fuck things up?” 

 

“What?” Ronan groaned, “God. This isn’t a time for psychoanalysing me, Dick. I want him to know I like him.” 

 

“But maybe not subconsciously?” Gansey tries, not put off. 

 

“Honestly?” Ronan says, “I think it’s easier to just say I’m scared and leave it at that. “

 

“Will you talk to Calla about it?” 

 

“Right,” Ronan laughs, “that’s why I have a therapist, so I can talk to her about my boy problems, which aren’t actually boy problems, by the way, they’re kissing boy problems.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey shrugs, “that could be part of the reason you have a therapist.”

 

-

  
  


Monday 

1:24 (pm)

-I like you. 

 

1:28

~That’s good to know. 

 

1:30

-Asshole. 

 

1:30

~I like you too. Obviously. 

 

1:31

-I’m serious. I need you to know this. 

 

1:32

~Ok.

~I’m serious too. 

~What’s up? 

 

1:35

-Are you dating anyone else? 

 

1:35

~What kind of question is that?? Of course I’m not. 

~The fuck, Ronan? 

 

1:36

-We never said we were exclusively dating. 

 

1:36

~Right, so are you seeing someone else then? 

~And you’re telling me you like me to soften the blow? 

~great. 

 

1:36

-no

-I’m not.

-I just needed to check. 

-Fuck dating is awkward. 

-This is me asking if we can be fucking exclusive while we’re seeing each other, ok?

 

1:37

~Ok. 

~Good. 

 

1:38

-I don’t know how to do this shit. 

 

1:39

~Hold normal conversations? 

 

1:40

-Fuck you

-Date. 

-I haven’t before. 

 

1:41

~I haven’t dated much either. 

 

1:41

-When I say I haven’t before I mean I have never, ever dated anyone. 

 

1:42

~Ok.

~I’m flattered. 

 

1:42

-Stop being flattered asshole#5 it’s just because you’re good looking geez. 

 

1:43

~I’m even more flattered. 

 

1:44

-Fuck off. 

 

1:45

~You’re pretty nice to look at too. X

 

-

 

10:13

~(image attached) 

~I didn’t clear away the pizza box in time and now J.A has claimed it as her new bed. 

~Not that she has EVER deigned to sleep in the EXPENSIVE cat bed I bought her weeks ago. 

 

10:14

-She’s me. 

 

10:15

~Outrageously irritating but cute enough to get away with it? 

 

10:16

-If you say so. 

 

10:17

~Well now I know not to buy you fancy beds. 

 

10:18

-That’s right, just buy me pizza and stroke my head and I’ll be happy. 

 

10:19

~I can stroke more than that. 

 

10:20

-I will bite your hand if you try and stroke my stomach. 

 

10:21

~Duly noted. 

~Sorry I didn’t mean to come off so forward. It was mostly a joke. I know you don’t wanna rush into shit. 

 

10:22

-God it’s fine, geez. Do you and Gansey go to the same worry club? 

 

10:23

~oh fuck off. 

 

10:23

-Do you have worry jackets? 

 

10:24

~I think that you think you’re funny, but you’re really not. 

 

10:26

-I really want to kiss you. 

 

10:26

~ A+ Distraction. 

~Kiss me on Wednesday x

 

10:27

-I fucking will. 

 

-

 

Tuesday 

8:03 (am)

+Ronan you fucker you ate all my chocolate all I asked was for you to leave me some omg how did you even manage to eat ALL my chocoatlet in one night? My stash is apocalpyse worthy you evil chocolate whore. 

 

8:06

-It’s under your bed you nincompoop. 

 

8:07

+Oh

+Thanks bb love you lots good morning xxxxx

 

-

 

“You’ll call me, afterwards, right?” Gansey asks anxiously, half in and half out of his Camaro while Ronan fiddles aimlessly with the rearview mirror in the BMW. 

 

“God,” Ronan snaps across the gap between their two cars, “Text. I said I’d text you. Can you please stop freaking out? I really don’t think this is a helpful tradition for me going to therapy.” 

 

“I’m not freaking out,” Gansey says sternly, pulls his door closed and leans out the open window towards Ronan, “I’m just making sure you know you can call me if you need afterwards. It’s good to have solid support systems in place.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s Calla’s job to tell me this shit,” Ronan replies, “look, I know you’re here for me, ok? And I appreciate it? Ok? Stop looking at me like that, go to class, fuck off.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, much happier, “text me.” 

 

“I fucking said I would!” Ronan calls after the retreating Pig, continues grumbling to himself as he starts his car up. He leaves the engine rumbling as he puts his seat belt on and checks his phone for texts from Adam. When he looks up to leave, there’s a shadow over his windscreen, and a body leaning against his car door. 

 

“Well that was touching,” Kavinsky sneers, “therapy huh? Finally clicked that you’re psycho?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, voice loud with shock, “the fuck are you doing here Kavinsky?” 

 

“Hm,” Kavinsky says, he’s leaning down into the window now, “I’ve been a bit busy, but I wanted to remind you that I’m still around, that I’m still pissed off at you, that you shouldn’t be resting easy, ok darling?” 

 

“I don’t take house calls,” Ronan says brusquely, stabs the window button to wind the window back up, even as Kavinsky presses down on it, “move before I take your head off while I leave.” 

 

“Baby,” Kavinsky laughs, “you know I’d like to see you do that, I like it when you get rough.” 

 

“Get off,” Ronan hisses, removes one hand from the steering wheel to press it flat over Kavinsky’s face and shoves at it until Kavinsky pulls his head back, still laughing. 

 

“I’ll be thinking about you baby!” Kavinsky yells, then pitches his voice in a terrible imitation of Gansey’s,  “Text me!” 

 

Ronan drives off. 

 

-

 

“Alright,” Calla says. She’s sitting in the same chair, but everything else is different. The wallpaper is a muted red with panelling, her hair is in cornrows hanging down over her shoulders, she’s in a lilac pantsuit, her lips are a deep blue, and she’s eating an apple, getting viscous blue all over it. It’s a lot to take in. “What just happened?” 

 

“Excuse me?” Ronan asks, he’s still standing in the doorway to the room, hasn’t even said anything yet. 

 

“I suppose you can sit down first,” Calla says, waves a hand languidly at the chair opposite her, “and then tell me about why you look like you’d rather be punching things right now.” 

 

“I always want to be punching things,” Ronan snarks back, drops himself heavily into the chair, “this preference is not a surprise. I’d rather be doing a lot of things than coming here.” 

 

“If that was meant to offend me,” Calla says, takes a large crunchy bite out of her apple and speaks through her full mouth, “it didn’t. So? What’s got your knickers in a knot?” 

 

“God,” Ronan grunts, tugs his feet up onto the edge of the chair so he can wrap his arms around his knees, “I feel like talking about this will be a waste of time seeing as its all we talked about last time.” 

 

“So Kavinsky,” Calla says, “or drugs? Or your general worry that you’re unable to be loved or to love in return?” 

 

“Kavinsky,” Ronan snaps. 

 

“Alright,” Calla smiles beatifically at him, “what did Kavinsky do?” 

 

“Do you want me to start from today?” Ronan asks sourly, picks at the arm of his chair, and then at the leather round his wrists, “or am I supposed to pick up from where we left off last week?” 

 

“You’re pissed off about today,” Calla shrugs, “start there, I have enough background about him now I think.” 

 

“Fine,” Ronan sighs, “but I’m telling you now that if you suggest I go to the police, I’m walking out.” 

 

“Ok,” Calla says easily, “but you’ll be back again for our next session, yes?” 

 

Ronan glares, “Maybe,” he concedes. 

 

-

 

He doesn’t walk out, mostly because Calla gets him a coffee and doesn’t even rib him for his sugar preferences this time. He doesn’t walk out, because he can tell her all the shit Kavinsky says to him without having to watch her freak out in response unlike some people he could name. 

 

She’s like a rock. A very stylish rock. Or maybe a sponge, seeing as she’s just casually absorbing everything he’s saying like it’s no big deal. 

 

He’ll probably hate himself a little later for just spilling everything so easily, but right now it’s ridiculously useful to just word vomit everything he’s been thinking about Kavinsky, everything he’s worried Kavinsky might do, everything without having to then persuade Gansey that he’s not going to the police with this. It’s not like this counts as stalking. It’s not like the police would take this seriously. It’s not like it’d help. 

 

He doesn’t bother trying to persuade Calla, he just says no, and she says yes, and he says no, and she says, keep telling me about what’s going on, so he does. She does however tell him that he absolutely should not text Kavinsky, this is something Ronan generally agrees with. 

 

She also tells him that he ought to be around friends as much as possible, that talking about all the shit with K, while useful, would probably bring too many feelings to the surface. He doesn’t really agree with her suggestion that he ought to talk to Gansey about that, that he ought to lean on people even more right now.

 

What he really doesn’t agree with is when Calla tells him she thinks they should do twice weekly sessions. 

 

“How the fuck am I meant to fit you in twice a week?” He snaps when she suggests it at the end of the hour, “You’re not exactly next fucking door.” 

 

Calla raises her eyebrows at him, doesn’t appear phased. “You’re the one who keeps telling me you don’t have a life, or any kind of schedule. Don’t you think it would be useful to have some sort of consistency in your life?” 

 

“So suggest I take up something else,” Ronan snaps, “how pathetic do you think I am that I need my emotions talked down so often?” 

 

“I’m not going to gratify your need to be insulted with a response,” Calla says, rolling her eyes, “I am going to say that I think it would be good for you to see me more regularly so you’re not bottling so much shit up all week and so we can spend more time on each individual problem rather than just dealing with the latest installment.” 

 

Ronan glares. 

 

“I was thinking we could do Tuesdays and Fridays,” Calla continues, she’s picked up a small red notebook now and is flipping through it briskly, pulling a pen out of a chest pocket, “morning sessions like we’ve been doing, but I also agree with you that you should take something else up.” 

 

“For fuck’s sake-” Ronan begins heatedly, but Calla forestalls his rant with another quirk of her eyebrows. He recognises the expression, and the power behind it, through interactions with Blue. 

 

“Not straight away,” Calla says, “you don’t want to implement too much change too quickly. Just think about it this week. Maybe pick up a hobby from when you were younger? Tennis maybe?” 

 

Ronan switches the glare to a scowl, it’s not a huge change, but it feels like it suits his mood better. 

 

“Ok good,” Calla says brightly, “I’ll see you again on Friday morning, Ronan. Have a good day!” 

  
  


-

  
  


11:39 

-Leaving Calla’s now. It was fine. Stop hyperventilating into your coffee. 

 

11:40

_It was tea.

_I’m glad it went well

_What do you want for dinner? 

 

11:46

-Surprise me. 

 

11:46

_Mushy peas it is!

 

11:46

-I swear to God if you give me mushy peas I will tell Blue you still have those horrendous slippers you swore you threw out. 

 

11:47

_How about steak and chips? 

 

11:48

-xxx

 

-

  
  


He considers driving around, but right now the memory of Kavinsky leaning against his window is too heavy in his mind. It’s not that he thinks that if Kavinsky turns up again, he’ll just end up doing some dumb shit, although that is a constant worry, it’s more that he doesn’t want to have to deal with the emotions that appear alongside Kavinsky like a fucking magical raincloud. He’s had enough of roller coaster feelings for one day, and he’s not even had lunch yet.  

He also doesn’t want to go home yet. All that’s there for him right now is drawing dicks and listening to too loud music. 

He texts Noah. 

 

12:01 (pm)

-You better be awake because I’m coming round. 

 

12:09

+if youre coming for my chocolate im wanring you im armed and dangerous

12:12

-If by armed you mean you have arms, and by dangerous you mean you’re good at frowning, yes you are. 

 

12:13

+you bettr not be texting and driving u little shit. 

 

12:19

-I’m pretty sure God made traffic lights just so we could text at red lights. 

 

12:20

+im pretty sure god didn’t make traffic lights u useless catholic

 

12:30

-Do I still count as Catholic if I haven’t been to Mass in over a year? 

 

12:31

+im unsure if this is u having an existensial crisis or u just arguing for the sake of it. 

 

12:40

-Can it be both? 

 

12:41

+i can fucking see you down in the parking lot just come up u dumb ass i have coffee

  
  


-

  
  


“So,” Noah greets him at the door, “did you actually sleep in my bed the other night or was that some weird lie?” 

 

“Hello to you too you shit hole,” Ronan grins at him, shoves his shoulders as they walk into the kitchen together, “I slept in your bed.” 

 

“Did you know,” Noah says over his shoulder as he crosses the tiled floor to the coffee machine which is beginning to make some quite dangerous bubbling noises, “that you can sleep in the same bed as him and not have sex?” 

 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan groans, throws himself down at the table and picks up a random spoon to fiddle with, “of course I fucking know that. I didn’t want to, ok?” 

 

“Didn’t want to fuck or didn’t want to sleep in his bed?” Noah pokes, grabbing two large mugs from the sink and rinsing them haphazardly. 

 

“Both,” Ronan grunts, “you know I’m not a good sleeper. In fact, according to you, I sleep punch. Not really a great date ending.” 

 

Noah shrugs dramatically, “Ah well,” he says, flapping his hands in Ronan’s directions so he can both dry his hands and get Ronan wet at once, “better that you do what’s comfortable for the both of you. Why are you here?” 

 

“You want me to go?” Ronan snaps, half rises from the table. Noah chucks a packet of herbs at him. 

 

“Sit the fuck down,” he grins, “you know I want you here. You just haven’t been around much lately.” 

 

“I’ve been round more lately than I have before,” Ronan objects, sweeps the spilled herbs on the table top into a heap with the side of his hand.

 

“Yeah but not for me,” Noah pouts, pours coffee, “I miss you.” 

 

“God,” Ronan sighs, “you sop.” 

 

“Just like old times,” Noah says, “I say things and you insult me. Nostalgic.” 

 

“I’m going to therapy,” Ronan says then, blurts it out to the small pile of herbs. 

 

“Oh,” Noah says, “that’s great, Ro.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan grunts, flicks herbs everywhere, “I just wanted to let you know. That I’m actually doing something about this shit. So like. You can stop - I don’t want you to worry about shit, ok?” 

 

“Ohh,” Noah says, “Ro, that was almost sweet.” 

 

“Stop it,” Ronan growls, chucks the mostly empty herb packet back, “I’m bored of worrying people.” 

 

“Ok,” Noah says, wipes herbs off the front of his shirt, “I’m going to smell like thyme all day now.” 

 

-

 

Blue gets home at 3, something that neither Ronan or Noah notice over the noise of the playstation until she jumps onto the back of the couch. 

 

This is useful for Ronan because it means Noah throws his controller away in shock, and Ronan wins the race, and unuseful for Ronan because his shock reaction leads to him biting his tongue so hard it bleeds. 

 

“The fuck, Maggot!” He snaps, whirling around, mouth sharp with copper, “yeah, yeah, laugh it up, God damn.” 

 

Blue’s doubled over with laughter but she lifts her head so she can point at Noah who’s sprawled on the floor and glaring impressively, “your face,” she gets outs, “I told you you had the speakers on too high.” 

 

“You didn’t tell me you were going to attempt to murder me because of it!” Noah retorts, scrambles for his controller which is nestled in between a pile of cushions and books, “You realise I always have a note in my pocket that say ‘Blue did it’, right?” 

 

Blue snorts and swings herself over the back of the couch to settle down next to Ronan, “Yup,” she says, “but you should know that that won’t be held up in a court of law.” 

 

“You should know that-” Noah begins mimicking back, and then grunts in annoyance, turns the game off, and crawls over on his knees to flop his upper half down on Blue’s lap. “What are you doing home so early?” 

 

“It’s 3 pm,” Blue says, amused, “I’m usually home at 2, dummy.”

 

“Oh,” Noah says, frowns, “I suppose I slept in later than I realised. Ok then, what are you doing home so late?” 

 

“I had afternoon tea with Gans,” Blue replies, leans against Ronan’s side and addresses him, “if you were wondering, he’s off buying steak now. He said it was a reward dinner for you, but he wouldn’t say what for.” 

 

Ronan shrugs, “For being so hot?” he suggests, “For being the best flatmate he could ask for?” 

 

Noah snorts a little too loudly. 

 

“Oi!” Ronan snaps, reaches over Blue to smack the top of his head, “I was a great flatmate to you, and you know it.” 

 

“God,” Blue groans, “please don’t fight over top of me.” 

 

“Yeah you were fine,” Noah drawls, props himself up on his elbows, “except for the constant mess, the sulking, the oil paint on my toothbrush…” 

 

“That was one time!” Ronan retorts loudly, “God, you talk like your room is the height of cleanliness, I slept there the other night you know, I almost couldn’t find the fucking bed!” 

 

“Well fuck you,” Noah says articulately, “you still found my chocolate so it can’t have been that bad.” 

 

“You slept over?” Blue interrupts, “When?” 

 

“Sunday night,” Noah informs her happily, “he slept in my room because he’s a shy gay baby.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan hisses, swiping at Noah’s head again while Noah yelps and attempts to hide under Blue’s arms, “don’t be a shit, Czerny!” 

 

“Oh my God,” Blue snaps, pulls Noah’s head down in a headlock under one arm, and catches Ronan’s wrist with her free hand, “if you two are fighting please take it outside, if you’re not, can I tease you about how you’re a shy baby now?” 

 

“I’m not a fucking shy baby!” Ronan replies, possibly quite loudly, “I’m very fucking - uh-” 

 

“Shy gay baby,” Noah corrects the both of them from under Blue’s arm.

 

“It’s ok, Lynch,” Blue says seriously, releases his wrist when he tugs it away to fold his arms, “being a virgin is nothing to be ashamed about-” 

 

“I fucking know that!” Ronan hisses, “But I’m not!” 

 

“He isn’t, you know,” Noah says, pulling himself up onto the couch properly now and leaning against the opposite arm to Ronan, “fuck, the stories he’s told me, I mean-” 

 

“Why the fuck are we talking about this?” Ronan snaps.

 

“Because I feel left out,” Blue replies grinning, “Noah’s the only one who tells me about his sex life in detail, even when I beg him not to.” 

 

“Well I’m currently begging you to shut the fuck up about this,” Ronan says, “please, for the love of Mary.” 

 

“That doesn’t look much like begging,” Noah comments snidely, grins, and pokes Ronan’s thigh with his toes. 

 

Ronan rolls his eyes, throws his arms up in the air, and intones in a voice not suited for indoor areas, “Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t ask me questions about my cock related activities.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says from the doorway, a heavy looking bag slung over one shoulder and a jersey trailing from his hand, “am I interrupting somethin’?” 

 

“Oh fuck you Noah,” Ronan groans, drops himself backwards so he’s half falling off the side of the couch, “And fuck you Blue.” 

 

Blue is cackling. It suits the horror filled moment. 

 

“No,” Noah says, dragging himself up on the back of the couch to grin at Adam, “we’re just teasing Ronan.” 

 

“Is this an activity I can join in on?” Adam asks, and Ronan curses loudly, struggles to pull himself upright. 

 

“Not if you want that date on Wednesday,” he says heatedly, and now Adam is laughing as well. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “fair. I’m gonna go change, catch you later,” with that, he disappears out of the doorway again, leaving Ronan caught between pleased and fuming. 

 

“Oh gross,” Blue says, shoving Ronan’s shoulder gently, “stop that.” 

 

“Stop what?” Ronan snaps back, shoving Blue’s arm a little less gently. 

 

“Your face,” Blue says, “it’s all dreamy and shit.” 

 

“It’s because of Adam’s ass,” Noah chips in, “I know because sometimes I make the same face when he leaves the room.” 

 

“Gross,” Blue reiterates, then, “go hang out with him then,” she says to Ronan, shoves him again, “it’s obvious you no longer want to be here with us now that your cat lord is here.” 

 

“It cuts us deeply,” Noah sighs mournfully, “how obvious you are with your preferences.” 

 

“Oh piss off,” Roan says, tumbles off of the couch, “you whiny little shit.” 

 

“Cruel,” Noah says, drops back down on the couch across Blue’s lap, “console me, Blue.” 

 

“Cry baby,” Blue says, amused, strokes Noah’s mussed hair down, “tell me about your weekend then, now that Ronan’s abandoning us for taller people.” 

 

-

 

He hesitates before knocking on the door, which ends up meaning that he doesn’t get to knock at all, because Adam opens the door, and gestures him in, then closes the door behind him. 

 

“How did you know I was out there?” Ronan asks, leans against the wall by the door, and looks the room over. It’s extremely neat, partly because there’s not really a lot of stuff in it. Even the desk, which appears to be holding the majority of Adam’s belongings, looks orderly, books stacked in tidy piles, pens and pencils in cups, papers clipped together. The bag he had been carrying when he came in is on the floor by the desk, and the jersey is draped over the back of the desk chair. There’s a row of pot plants on the wide windowsill, a bookshelf along one wall next to the wardrobe doors, and Adam’s neatly made bed along the other side. 

 

“Habit,” Adam replies, “I’m always at least half aware of where everyone in the house is. You can sit down on the bed, or at the desk if you like.” 

 

Ronan pushes himself away from the wall, glances at the spindly desk chair, and then sits on the edge of Adam’s bed. 

 

“I have work in an hour,” Adam is saying as he strides over to his wardrobe and opens it, “but do you wanna - do you wanna hang until then?” The wardrobe isn’t exactly full either, it has rows of neat looking clothes, a couple of pairs of shoes, and not much else. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “if you have the time, you don’t have homework?” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, shrugs, and then starts pulling his shirt off, it’s a bit of an ordeal, getting caught on his cast, but he somehow still manages to do it smoothly. “I do, but it can wait.” 

 

“Uh-” Ronan says, gets momentarily distracted by the ridge of Adam’s spine, “you sure?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says emphatically, glances over his shoulder to smile at Ronan as he folds his shirt, “I’ve been studying all day, I could do with some… chill time.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “can we leave your shirt off?” 

 

Adam snorts, “I suppose,” he says, shuts the wardrobe door “I guess I can get changed for work closer to the time anyway.”

 

“Come sit with me,” Ronan says, pats the bed beside him, and then feels awkward about it, “and uh - tell me about your day?” 

 

“It was boring,” Adam says plainly, crosses the room in two long steps and climbs onto the bed to kneel on the mattress next to Ronan, “all lectures and study sessions, I can’t even remember if I ate lunch or not.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “that’s not good, you wanna grab something now?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam shrugs, swivels and flops over onto his side, “I’m working at Seph’s today, I’ll eat something when I’m there. Unless you’re hungry? Have you had lunch?” 

 

“Does coffee count as lunch?” Ronan asks, grins as Adam rolls his eyes, “I’m not hungry,” he says, “and Gansey is making steak and chips for dinner so there’s no point in eating anything now anyway.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, then, “so about that kiss you were gonna give me on Wednesday, how do you feel about moving that forwards?” 

 

“I know that was meant to be smooth,” Ronan says, still grinning, “but it really wasn’t, Parrish.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam says, he’s grinning as well, reaching out for Ronan’s hands, “so?” 

 

“I guess,” Ronan replies, lets Adam thread their fingers together, ignores the heat in his stomach that this invokes, “it’ll be a hassle though.” 

 

“You are such an asshole,” Adam says happily, “c’mere, would you?” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, shuffles up the bed a little until his back is against the wall and his knees are pressed against Adam’s, “ok,” he says, leans in, presses his lips to Adam’s in an approximation of a kiss. Still better than his previous efforts though. 

 

Adam looks stupidly pleased when Ronan pulls back a little to check expressions, like Ronan had given him something a lot nicer than a peck. He’s struck with the sudden urge to text Gansey about his success in actually kissing Adam first, snorts at his own idiocy. 

 

“What?” Adam asks, pokes him in the side, “You laughin’ at me?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan drawls, leans back in to kiss Adam again, suddenly awfully easy to do, softer, longer, and wetter, “nah I’m laughing at myself,” he clarifies when he pulls back again, and Adam raises his eyebrows. 

 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, shifts so he can stretch his legs out over Ronan’s, “Y’gonna share the joke?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says again, “it’s not actually funny.” 

 

“Ok then,” Adam says easily, “you wanna kiss me again then?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, kisses him. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Ok,” Gansey says, he’s standing at the stove, spatula in hand and a firm expression on his face, “what is it? You’ve been humming. What happened? Did Noah accidentally bleach his hair orange again? Are my pants inside out?” 

 

“Can’t I just be happy?” Ronan calls back from the couch where he’s sprawled so his head falls off the side, his legs slung over the back of it. 

 

“Of course you can,” Gansey grumbles, “I just need to know if it’s because there’s frog spawn in my bed or not.” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, “that was you who spilled the frog spawn in your bed, stop trying to pin that on me, dick.” 

 

“Because you tickled me!” Gansey protests.

 

“Anyway,” Ronan continues as if Gansey hadn’t spoken, “why do you always assume I’ve done something bad when I’m happy?” 

 

“Uh,” Gansey says, presses the steak in the pan down specifically to get sizzling, “because I’ve lived with you for almost a decade?” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “fuck that’s a long time.” 

 

“You want your steak medium rare, yeah?” Gansey asks, “Or are you in one of your disgusting ‘give me my steak still mooing’ moods?”

 

“Medium rare,” Ronan says, does a sit up so he can see over the back of the couch to look at Gansey, holds onto his knees to stop himself from falling back down. “I kissed Adam.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, then, “oh, you kissed him?” 

 

“That’s what I fucking said,” Ronan says, releases his legs and drops back down, “so you can stop coming up with theories as to my mental block in instigating kissing.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says, “just because you did it doesn’t mean you have an answer-” 

 

“I’m still convinced I was just scared, like an asshole,” Ronan says to the ceiling, “sometimes there is no mystery about it, Gans.” 

 

“It’s more fun when there is,” Gansey replies, turns the stove off. 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan sighs, “no mysteries here, just a fuck load of trauma.” 

 

-

  
  


9:02 (pm)

-What time is the party tomorrow? 

 

9:09

~8.30. That still all good? 

 

9:10

-I still hate parties, but yeah. I don’t have to dress up do I? 

 

9:11

~It’ll all be law students and lawyers in their gross prep clothes and suits, so nah, wear whatever you like. 

 

9:12

-Ooh are you gonna be dressed up? 

 

9:13

~Not hugely. 

 

9:14

-Tie?

 

9:15

~Yes. 

 

9:15

-I’m looking forward to it. 

 

9:16

~You’re so strange. 

 

9:17

-How was work? 

 

9:20

~It was good! Seph wants to know when you’re coming back in and she also congratulated me on our mouth joining, so there’s that. 

 

9:21

-Does Persephone ever strike you as an extremely odd person?

 

9:22

~Oh constantly. She seemed genuinely happy about it, though, it was kind of nice. 

 

9:22

-Mouth joining. 

 

9:23

~We should have a party for it. Invite people. Please come to our mouth joining celebration, bring mints and a kissing partner. 

 

9:24

-I generally leave couple party planning until at least a year into the relationship. 

 

9:25

~Well you shouldn’t have joined mouths with me ;) 

 

9:26

-I really like your pot plants, especially the anthurium. 

 

9:27

~I’m really impressed you know what it’s called!

 

9:28

-It’s one of my mum’s favourite flowers

 

9:29

~It’s a good favourite flower. 

~Do you have a favourite flower? 

 

9:30

-I’m not fucking 12

-Jasmine. Also the corpse flower. 

 

9:31

~Of course. 

 

9:32

-ok so now you’ve gotta tell my your favourite flower. 

 

9:32

~You know I’m pretty sure I am never going to be able to buy you a bouquet of flowers with a corpse flower in it. This is very difficult for me, ro. 

 

9:32

-Oh my God you are so gay. 

 

9:33

~Bi.;) 

 

9:33

-Come on, tell my your favourite flower so I can be gay and buy you flowers like an overly soppy fool when you have a bad day or some shit. 

 

9:35

~Aster

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan knows that most people, when they sit around worrying about upcoming parties, are worrying that they won't know anyone there. He supposes that it's a waste of time to worry about people he knows coming. Sure, some of K’s gang were law students, but he highly doubted they would be attending any party that Adam would go to. 

 

So, instead of worrying about that, Ronan spent the majority of Wednesday morning worrying about whether or not he had lied to Adam. He had told Adam that he had never dated anyone before, and while this was true to Ronan, he wasn't sure it would hold up as truth to Adam. 

 

Kavinsky had never been his boyfriend, that much was unerringly true.  Kavinsky didn't believe in monogamy, or respecting boundaries, or telling the truth, all things that Ronan desperately needed in a relationship. 

But, they had, for lack of a better phrase, gone out. Albeit, in the loosest sense, if engaging each other in drag races and brawls counted. If Ronan, drunkenly allowing K to grope him in crowded clubs, drinking cocktails he later suspected were spiked with drugs, not reporting him to the police, or Gansey, the next day when he woke up remembering nothing but pain and humiliation, counted. 

 

It has been enough for even complete idiots like Tad to decide that they were together. He had seen Ronan and K entwined horrifically in too many bars, seen Ronan being dragged into Kavinsky's car one too many times, a little bit too indecent to overlook. 

 

It didn't matter that for the most part Ronan was an unwilling participant, drugs and alcohol made him appear compliant to onlookers, made him less sure of his own decisions, which ones he had made and which K had. It was easier to pretend he knew what he was doing, to pretend he wanted what was happening, to pretend he remembered what happened last night, last week, where that cut came from, that bruise, that drug addiction, that complete and utter desire to die. 

 

Ok. 

 

He was spiraling. 

 

It's barely noon, and he's spiraling. 

  
  


Gansey isn't in the kitchen when Ronan forces himself out of his bed, forces himself out of his room, forces himself away from his head. He's not in the lounge, bathroom, or his bedroom either. Ronan really needs Gansey to be here. Needs him to pretend like he's not always having to be the one digging Ronan out of holes, and dig him out of this one. Needs to stop thinking about tasting salt in his glass and knowing what that meant, knowing he didn’t care about anything enough right now to do anything about it, knowing that even if he did care enough, he wouldn’t be able to get out in time anyway.

 

He calls Gansey. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey answers, voice low and only vaguely irritated, “you know I'm in class right now.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan replies, his own voice dropped down into a whisper subconsciously matching Gansey’s, “I know.” 

 

“What is it?” Gansey asks, the mild irritation is still there, but it's the ‘Gansey interrupted in study’ irritation rather than the ‘fuck off Ronan’ irritation. 

 

“Can you-” Ronan begins, pauses, he doesn't actually want to word vomit on Gansey over the phone. “I need you,” he says instead, feels selfish even before the words leave his lips, “I need you.” 

 

He can hear what he assumes is Gansey's lecturer, it sounds like he's telling Gansey to hang up or get out. 

 

“I'm coming home,” Gansey tells him, “you are home?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. 

 

“Are you ok, Ro?” Gansey asks, and now all that was left of the mild irritation has transformed into heady worry, “what's happened?” 

 

It probably is exceedingly unfair of him to do this to Gansey. It had probably been exceedingly unfair on Gansey for the last few years or so as well, so he didn’t know why he was feeling this guilt so heavily right now. 

 

“I-” he says coherently, “I can't be alone right now.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, blessedly doesn't prod further. Ronan can hear shuffling noises as if Gansey is packing up and leaving, whispers from beyond the phone. “Um,” Gansey says, voice even lower than before, “Parrish is here, he wants to know if you're ok? What should I tell him?” 

 

Oh, of course. It's history class. Of course Adam and Gansey sit together. 

 

“Tell him I'm a fucking piece of shit who ignores my therapist until I'm on the verge of a panic attack,” Ronan mumbles

 

“Ok,” Gansey sighs, “shall I tell him you're ok?”

 

“Can you-” Ronan starts again, fucking hates this. He doesn't want to be lying. He also doesn't want Adam to actually know he's a piece of shit who ignores his therapist until he's on the verge of a panic attack. Or that it only takes him a day from seeing his therapist to breaking down again. Or that he has a therapist. Or that he has panic attacks. It's not so much that he's really ashamed of any of this, it's more that he's scared that Adam will think that these are things to be ashamed of. And also maybe he is a little ashamed. “Tell him I'll text him soon,” he settles on, “um. Yeah.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says. Ronan can hear him repeating this to Adam, can hear a vague noise in response, but not what Adam is saying, and then Gansey is talking to him again, “want me to stay on the phone?” He asks, “I'm on my way now.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “but I don't wanna be talking.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “can I talk?” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grunts, he’s wound his way around the house, trailing his hand along the walls, desperately wants to be putting his knuckles through the plaster, resists until he’s arrived back in his room. He punches his pillows. “not about uni,” he adds, drops himself heavily down onto his bed, turns on his side, pinning the phone between his ear and the mattress. 

 

“I can do that,” Gansey says, his voice carefully cheerful. The background noise is getting louder, it sounds like he’s walking through the hallways, through crowds of people, “I never told you about my weekend with my parents, did I?” 

  
  


-

  
  


They stay on the phone while Gansey makes his way to the carpark, and then while he drives back home - phone on speakerphone in the passenger seat - and even still as Gansey unlocks the front door. He doesn’t hang up until Gansey is in his bedroom doorway, phone pressed to his ear, anxious expression plastered over his face. 

 

“Hey,” Gansey says, drops his phone into his shorts’ pocket, “want a coffee?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says into his pillow. 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, crosses the room and drops himself down next to Ronan, stretches out on the mattress beside him, and tugs at the pillow, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

 

“I hate therapy,” Ronan says, presses his face into the mattress now that Gansey’s stolen his pillow. 

 

“Because-?” 

 

“Because,” Ronan grunt, “it makes me think about shit.” 

 

“Shit like-?” 

 

“Shit like-” Ronan curses loudly, can feel the fabric against his cheeks growing damp, “just shit from last year.”

 

“About Kavinsky?” Gansney asks, “Or about your family? Or-” 

 

“K,” Ronan answers shortly, “but it’s all fucking connected, isn’t it.” 

 

“I guess,” Gansey says, “do you want to talk to me about what shit you’ve been thinking about?” 

 

“Not really,” Ronan sniffs, “I just needed you here.” 

 

“I’m happy to be here,” Gansey says, slow, “but-” please no fucking buts, “-I’m happy to do more, as well, if you want to talk, or - uh - yell, or whatever.” 

 

“I’m going to a party tonight,” Ronan mumbles, “and I want to feel human enough to go.” 

 

“So,” Gansey says, doesn’t ask about the party, probably knows that’s a question too far right now, “you want me to return you to your human form in time?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, “if that’s possible.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey’s nodding, he can feel it against his shoulder, “I can do that. First of all, we’re getting up and going to the kitchen.” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan groans, “no.” 

 

“Yep,” Gansey continues, he’s sitting up now, resting his hand on Ronan’s hip, “and I’m making you coffee, and we’re going to eat some food, and then we’re going to sit on the couch and you’re going to talk to me about whatever you like.” 

 

“I don’t like,” Ronan protests as Gansey leans over to hook his hand round the crook of Ronan’s elbow to pull him upright. 

 

“I can’t help you,” Gansey says once Ronan’s begrudgingly sitting up, one arm caught by Gansey’s hand still, the other raised to rub salt and snot off of his face with his sleeve, “if you don’t talk to me at all, and I think food and coffee will help.” 

 

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbles as Gansey man handles him through his bedroom door, “I guess.” 

  
  


-

  
  


4:32 (pm) 

-Where are we meeting for this party? 

 

4:37

~I’m at the mechanics until 7, do you wanna greab a quick dinner before the party? 

 

4:38

-Yeah sure. Meet you there at a bit past 7 then? 

 

4:39

~That’d be nice, if you take the bus, we can bus to the party too. If you wanted to drink, that is. 

 

4:42

-I might. 

 

4:43

~You all good? 

 

4:46

-Sure am. 

 

4:47

~Because if you aren’t, we can skip the party. 

 

4:48

-I want to go. 

-I’m not going to be your excuse to not go. Sorry dude.

 

4:50

~Damn, foiled again.

~Do you want me to send you the fb invite to the party btw?

~So you can check out who’s coming or whatever? 

 

4:52

-I haven’t been on fb in like a year, so, nah. 

 

4:53

~So that’s why you haven’t accepted my friend request…

 

4:54

-No I’m purposefully ignoring that :) 

 

4:55

~God you’re such a dick I can’t believe I”m dating you. 

 

4:56

-I only add people I have shared trauma with. 

 

5:01

~So… according to your fb friend list, you’ve shared trauma with Gansey, Noah, Matthew, and a Harrison Ford fan page? 

 

5:03

-Trauma and people who made me gay. 

 

5:04

~So.... Gansey made you gay ;) 

 

5:05

-In his fucking dreams. 

 

5:05

~C’mon. You totally had a crush on him when he was younger. I’ve seen highschool photos of him. 

 

5:06

-He was a nerd ass then and a nerd ass now. 

 

5:07

~Ah do you have a thing for nerds? 

 

5:07

-Please. 

-ok so I wanted to get my grubby sad gay hands on Gansey when I was younger, who didn’t. 

 

5:08

~aw, grubby sad gay hands. 

~What’s with that? 

 

5:09

-I’m a gay catholic who grew up in a small town. Also my entire family is prone to dramatics. Of course I was a sad gay.

-You grew up in Henrietta, you know what it’s like there. 

 

5:10

~Yeah. Fair. 

~I didn’t start dating guys until I left. 

 

5:11

-Exactly. 

 

5:15

~Pretty sure Blue tried to hjook me up with Noah once.

 

5:15

-The fuck. 

 

5:16

~Yeah, she kept talking him up and suggesting I meet him. I almost did ha, but then I broke my arm and couldn’t come in to work, so I missed my chance. 

 

5:17

-Thank fuck, I couldn’t date you if you’d date 2 of my friends. 

 

5:18

~This is a bad time to tell you about dating Gansey then…

 

5:19

-Oh fuck offffffff

 

5:20

~:-*

  
  


-

  
  


6:06

/(K)

/hw was thrpy th othr da bb? Didya talk about me? Bn thnkg bout u xxxxx

  
  


-

  
  


6:58

-I’m outside. 

 

7:00

~Come in, I’m just finishing off a coupla things. No one else is here just come through the office x 

  
  


-

  
  


Adam is half inside and elbow deep in the engine of a black prius when Ronan walks in, and calls a greeting which sounds as if it’s being muffled by a spanner. Ronan is entirely overcome with the urge to slap his ass, which is sticking up in the air, but he can’t risk disturbing whatever it is Adam’s doing in there, lest it’s actually dangerous. He settles for gawking at it instead, not needing to worry about Adam seeing his expression seeing as all Adam could currently see was car guts. 

 

“Need a hand?” Ronan asks, tilts his head to one side to further appreciate how Adam looks in his stained coveralls, fabric pulling tight where he’s bent. 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “I’m almost finished.” He grunts a little out of exertion, Ronan can see his biceps working under the stretch of his t-shirt, appreciates this too. “I think I might need to take a quick shower, though,” Adam continues, “so I don’t show up at the party looking like I rolled out of a gutter.” 

 

“You look pretty damn hot for having rolled out of a gutter,” Ronan says truthfully, bites his lip as one of Adam’s hands appear holding a dirty rag. His knuckles, already eye catching with their knobblyness, are black with grease and red with still slowly trickling blood from shallow looking graze along the backs of his knuckles, like he’s scraped them on concrete, or Ronan supposes, on the insides of a car.  He’s holding himself upright on his cast covered elbow, simply looking at his handiwork now.

 

“Ha,” Adam says dryly, “the only hot I am currently is overheated.”

 

“That’s a horrible lie,” Ronan drawls, steps closer so he can take in the details of the fine hair on the back of Adam’s neck, the sweat lines cutting through light dust. “What happened to your hand?” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “got distracted is all, it’s fine.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, mindlessly reaches out, brushes his fingers along the knob of Adam’s wrist, “you have plasters here, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam laughs, finally pulls the rest of himself out of the car and turns, lets Ronan keep holding onto his wrist, “of course. It really isn’t anything though.” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, presses his thumb in against the tendons on the inside of Adam’s wrist, against the steady thrum of his veins, rubs grease slick skin. 

 

“You look nice,” Adam says, he’s looking Ronan up and down, taking in the only pair of unripped jeans Ronan owns, the expensively clean t-shirt, the unscratched up leather jacket, “very nice.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says, he’s busy looking Adam up and down as well. The front view is much better because it has Adam’s face in the picture. It’s all tan skin and freckles and grease and tight fabric and strong limbs, “I would look better he says, “if I was a little more grease stained. I feel like I need some dirt right here,” he points a the side of his neck, “and also here,” the front of his shirt, “and here,” he adds touching his lower lip. 

 

Adam snorts, doesn’t deny him though, steps closer, pulls his wrist out of the loose circle of Ronan’s hand, and pulls Ronan closer by the now no longer clean front of his shirt. He lifts his left arm, slow with the weight of the cast, press his fingers against the side of Ronan’s neck, tugs him down just slightly to meet his lips. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, pulls away, drops his hands from Ronan, “I need to shower, you good to wait another 5 minutes?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “I’m definitely going to leave now, I have no patience for cleanliness.” 

 

He follows Adam to the small washroom, perches on the sink counter as Adam disappears into the stall, tries to turn off his brain’s imagination switch as Adam tosses work stained clothes over the top of the stall and turns the shower on. 

 

He half turns against the mirrored wall he’s leaning against, tips his head to the side so he can look at the grease staining his neck, thinks it’s probably a little ridiculous to find the sight of it as hot as he does. 

 

He rather fancies how he looks like this, dressed up nice (ish), and then slightly crumpled and dirtied with affection. It’s only a slight echo of what he’s used to, slight enough that it doesn’t ring alarm bells, just brushes them slightly. He knows this is different to his previous encounters with other people leaving marks on his skin. Knows this is different. He likes these ones, not through some sort of morbid fancy like the rest, but because it was Adam, and Adam’s dirty meant hard work, and sweat, and cleverness. Also cars. The cars was a bonus. 

 

When the shower cuts off, he’s a little too busy contemplating other ways Adam could leave marks on him to realise he was being spoken to until the stall door opened a crack and Adam stuck his head out. 

 

“Hey,” he says, “if you’re not too busy checking yourself out? Could you grab me my backpack? It’s in the cubby over there.” 

 

“Ah,” Ronan says, catching Adam’s eye in the mirror which he is still staring into, “right. Yes. Of course.” 

 

“Did I interrupt some deep thought?” Adam asks once Ronan’s handed over the bag and Adam’s shut the stall again, “Forestalled some great philosophical idea?” 

 

“Something like that,” Ronan says.

 

“Care to share with the class?” Adam asks, voice muffled like he’s pulling a shirt on over his head. 

 

“Mmm,” Ronan says, hops back up on the counter and leans against the wall with his eyes closed, “just wondering how much of the party we can spend hiding and making out.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, he can hear the grin in his voice, “I’ve been to this place before, there are lots of nice nooks and crannies.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan does his best not to sound jealous, probably doesn’t quite manage this, “you’ve made out there before then?” 

 

Adam laughs at him. 

 

“No,” he says, “I’ve hidden there before, by myself. Once with the house dog. No kissing involved.” 

 

“They have a dog?” Ronan asks, very eager to sweep past his own awkwardness as quickly as possible. 

 

“Yup,” Adam says, “A cocker Spaniel named Batman.” 

 

“I love him,” Ronan says emphatically, “can we steal him?” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “I won’t, but if you do, I’ll vouch for your innocence.” 

 

Fuck,” Ronan grins, “you’re the best, Parrish.” 

 

“Yeah, I am,” Adam replies easily, pushes the stall door open, “how do I look?” 

 

He’s not overly done up it’s just dress pants and a nice shirt with a tie. It would look more casual if it wasn’t for the fact that Adam filled out his clothes so well. 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah. Yeah. Fuck you look good.” 

 

“Yeah?” Adam asks, he almost sounds shy. 

 

“Passable,” Ronan says, clears his throat, “your hair is a mess though.” 

 

“Hm,” Adam says, squinting past Ronan at the mirror behind him, “yeah. Give me a second.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They walk to a nearby sushi bar for dinner first, Adam had suggested tacos, but then he’d seen Ronan’s face as they walked past the sushi bar advertising live octopus, and pushed him inside. 

 

“I’m gonna need to drink a lot more sake before I can hack watching you eat another one of those,” Adam grimaces. He had been sitting next to Ronan at the beginning of the meal, but had slowly shifted onto the other side of the table after their food had come out, “are you actually enjoying it?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, grins through a mouthful, “we can get more sake if you want.” 

 

“Hmm,” Adam says, grins back, “it’s probably a bad look to turn up at this party as drunk as I would need to be.”

 

“I dunno,” Ronan says, “this is a lawyer party, isn’t it?” 

 

“Shut up.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They do end up a little tipsy by the time they make it to the party, not tipsy enough to stop Adam from worrying about the fact that he got grease all over Ronan’s shirt. 

  
  


“Hey,” Adam says as they walk up the front steps towards the house. The house is pumping with music and voices, the party evidently already in full swing, “we can leave whenever, ok? Just say the word.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, “we allowed to hold hands in front of your classmates?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, doesn’t get a reply in before the door swings open in front of them, grabs Ronan’s hand in answer instead. They’re invited in by a jovial looking young man, and ushered directly to the drinks table. 

 

Ronan’s already regretting the couple of cups of sake he’d knocked back earlier, accepts the cup pressed into his hand anyway, fully intends not to drink any of it. Adam also looks uncomfortable as he’s given his cup, but also takes it. Unlike Ronan, he immediately takes a sip from it, then grimaces. 

 

“God,” he mumbles into Ronan’s ear, “they always mix their drinks too strong at these parties.” 

 

“I forgot to ask,” Ronan mumbles back, “what kind of party is this?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “it’s meant to be a socialiser. Law students, and new lawyers, and rich people all mingling to make connections by getting drunk on each other.” 

 

“And we’re here, why?” 

 

“Because I suck at socialising,” Adam replies, he has to raise his voice now to keep talking to Ronan because the music has changed from general thumping bass to raucous thumping bass, “and half of getting on in law school is socialising, so.” 

 

“Fucking gross,” Ronan yells back, “in art school it was perfectly acceptable to get drunk all by yourself.” 

 

“That sounds preferable,” Adam agrees, takes another mouthful of his drink, then tugs Ronan further into the room, “shall we mingle?” 

 

-

  
  


Despite the chaos and general disorderly nature of the party - a million loud conversations happening at once, thumping music, drunken antics already happening - everyone is dressed up. Suits and cocktail dresses, makeup and fancy shoes. He can’t imagine anyone else here having been dressed in overalls and grease just recently. It’s nearly despicable. He already wants to leave. It’s too late though, Adam is parking them at a group of laughing hotshots, is already being greeted loudly. 

 

“Parrish!” One of them says delightedly, he looks to be the leader of this particular group, all shoes pointed to him, a woman on one arm, a man leaning against his shoulder, drinks in both hands. “You made it! I was just telling my study group here about those fantastic study tips you gave me, I really owe you for that! In fact, here,” he pauses to shove one of his drinks towards Adam, and Adam has to let go of Ronan’s hand to take it. “It’s the last of the Sav I brought with me,” he says cheerfully, “I had 2 glasses at once so I could have some before it disappeared, and good thing I did because it fucking vanished, my man! But you deserve this.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, smiles, “thank you.” 

 

“Parrish,” a woman to their left said, “you weren’t in class this morning! We missed you during the group discussion work-” 

 

Adam appears to ignore this in favour of someone on their right elbowing him and saying; “and who’s this, then? You showing a first year law baby round? They look pretty nervous being here.” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, glances over his shoulder at Ronan, then reaches back with the hand still holding the wine glass. Ronan takes the wine glass, and Adam takes his shoulder, pulls him gently forward, moving his hand up until his fingers are pressed against Ronan’s nape. “No, this is my date, Ronan. He’s not a law student.” 

 

“Oh,” the leader says, Ronan’s already decided he doesn’t like him, it may just be because of his expensive wine habits though, “how… open of you!” 

 

Ronan scowls, but Adam is smiling politely still, is rubbing thumb against the side of Ronan’s neck, smearing leftover grease around. “Indeed,” he says, “you didn’t bring your girlfriend, Luisa, tonight, I see?” 

 

The woman on the man’s arm, flushes bright pink, but this fucking arrogant ass laughs, “Oh you’re a sly one, Parrish,” he says, “you’re right. This is - ah - Emma, she came with a friend here tonight.” 

 

“Emily,” Emily says quietly, wriggles, but doesn’t release his arm, “you didn’t say you had a girlfriend, Thomas.”

 

Thomas the asshole laughs again, raises his eyebrows at Adam as if he expects Adam to laugh along as well, “You never asked,” he says, perfectly content, then nods to Ronan, “are you a girlfriend stand in tonight as well?” 

 

Ronan’s scowl deepens, so does Adam’s polite smile. “No,” Adam says firmly, tugs Ronan a little closer to his body, leans in so their cheeks are touching, “you know I don’t have enough of a social life to two time anyone, Maxton.” 

 

Thomas Maxton continues to laugh as if he and Adam are having a perfectly sweet conversation. No one else in the group seems to agree with him, though they all wear polite smiles that look like Adam’s. 

 

“Anyway,” Adam continues, leans forwards into the circle of people, “Annie, I missed class this morning and there was nothing on the class site about it, anything interesting happen?” 

 

“No,” Annie replies with a shrug, “Prof Blakely had a cold and just stuck us all in group discussions after a ten minute talk about last weeks readings.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, nods, “did you take notes from that?” 

 

“Yup,” Annie replies, “do you want them? I owe you for your notes from yesterday.” 

 

“That’d be great,” Adam grins, “email me them later?”  Annie nods, Adam grins some more, then waves vaguely at the rest of the group, and bows himself and Ronan out. 

 

“This is horrific,” Ronan grumbles, he’s still caught close to Adam’s side, wants to stay that way, “can we find Batman now?” 

 

“Let’s,” Adam sighs, then glances sideways at Ronan, “do you wanna drink that wine? I’m not a fan.” 

 

“Only if I can make direct eye contact with Thomas asstown while I swallow it in one gulp,” Ronan replies, and Adam laughs. 

 

“I would like to see that,” he admits, and Ronan smiles back at him, then deposits the wine glass on the closest available surface along with his mixed drink, slides his arm up to grab Adam’s hand back. 

 

“So,” he says, “how many other evil creatures must we face before we find our sweet doggie?” 

 

“Ugh,” Adam says, squeezes Ronan’s fingers, “not many I hope. I do have some actually nice friends in these classes you know. Annie is lovely.” 

 

“Annie was not the human equivalent of the devil,” Ronan allows, “neither was she a lovely dog called Batman.” 

 

“I should never had told you about Batman,” Adam sighs. 

 

“You probably also shouldn’t have told me there were good make out spots here,” Ronan adds, “you know that’s all I’ve been thinking about since we got here.” 

 

The look Adam gives him appears to have originally meant to be made entirely of exasperation, but ends up simply lustful. Ronan swallows. 

 

“Parrish!” a voice calls out behind them, and they both have to put pause to Batman and making out to engage in some more conversation. 

  
  


-

  
  


What Ronan is learning from this is that Adam is exceedingly popular in his classes, but despite this, has no group he appears to fit in, and no close friends.  It seems like everyone here owes him a favour, or credits their last grade to his notes, or are themselves impressed with Adam’s last grade. 

 

Whenever anyone notices that Ronan doesn’t have a drink, they give him a new one, and one for Adam too. Ronan doesn’t bother even pretending to drink, just abandons drinks as quickly as he’s given them. Adam does this to some extent, he still ends up drinking a few glasses before they make it out of even the first room. Leaving the room takes over an hour. It is a large room, but this is bordering on fucking ridiculous. 

People react to Ronan’s presence in a variety of ways. None of them are given the option to ignore him, however, as in every new group they’re tugged into, Adam introduces him immediately, emphasises the ‘date’, bit, and squeezes Ronan’s hand. 

 

Mostly people smile politely, some immediately change the subject after this, others ask what Ronan does, to which Ronan immediately changes the subject. 

 

Some people think Adam is joking, to which Adam cuts through their laughter with his perfectly potent polite smile and a simple, “I’m not joking.” 

 

Other people still, say things behind their hands, which Ronan knows Adam sees but can’t hear. It’s infuriating. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Did anyone here know you’re bi before tonight?” Ronan asks after they’ve extricated themselves from yet another group of slowly getting drunker students, and squished into a gap between rooms, “Or is this your great coming out?” 

 

“It wasn’t important before,” Adam shrugs, presses himself up against Ronan, presses Ronan up against the wall. He smells like vodka and orange juice. “Some people knew already because they knew when I was dating other guys.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, exhales heavily as Adam presses his lips to Ronan’s cheek, “you player.” 

 

Adam snorts in his ear, kisses his earlobe, “Nah,” he drawls, “I’ve dated 3 people since I’ve started uni, I don’t think that makes me a player.” 

 

“Hmm,” Ronan says, partly because he can’t think of anything else to say while Adam is kissing his neck, “are you drunk?” 

 

“Naw,” Adam says, pulls away from Ronan’s neck, “tipsy maybe.” 

 

“Because you’re nervous?” Ronan asks, stays as still as he can against the wall, “Loud social situations and all that?” 

 

“A bit,” Adam says, then, “it’s a bit nerve wracking having you here, honestly.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “bit late to change your mind about inviting me, really.” 

 

“It’s not that,” Adam says, he’s rolling his eyes, sliding his hands down from Ronan’s shoulders to his hips, “this just seems so not your scene. Look at all these fuckers,” he says, lowering his voice alongside his hands, “they’re so fucking pretentious, so fucking - I don’t want you to think I’m like them.” 

 

Now Ronan rolls his eyes. He reaches down to take Adam’s hands in his, brings the both of them up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, dry and cracked from over work and cheap soap. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says into Adam’s hands, “I wouldn’t be dating you if I thought you were anything like these fucks.” 

 

At his words, Adam’s face inexplicably falls, his lips shaking, hands trembling in Ronan’s. “I’m nothing like them,” he agrees, “an’ I never will be.” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, releases Adam’s hands so he can cup his cheeks instead, “weren’t we just saying that that’s a good thing?” 

 

“Yeah sure,” Adam sniffs, lifts his right hand to cover Ronan’s on his cheek, “jus’, y’know, sometimes - sometimes it’d be nice if-” 

 

“Hey Parrish!” It’s one of the people they’d talked to earlier, Ronan can’t remember their name because they hadn’t been overly assholey, but neither had they seemed very interesting. Now they just seem kind of drunk. “Parrish!” They repeat, “We’re gonna play King’s cup! You in?” 

 

“No,” Ronan replies for him, “we’ve got another engagement to get to.” 

 

“Pfft,” they’re having to lean against the wall to stay upright, “you mean snogging against the walls?” 

 

“Well that too,” Ronan says, smiles sharply, Adam isn’t making any move to speak, is gripping Ronan’s hand tightly, “we have to go, now though.” 

 

Adam lets him drag the both of them through the house again, barely hesitating when people called out to them, doesn’t speak until they’re outside in the fresh night air. 

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, it sounds like he’s suddenly sobered up, “I didn’ mean to drink so much.” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says easily, shrugs his jacket off to drape over Adam’s shoulders which are shaking, “you were fine.” He keeps a firm hold on Adam’s hand, starts them off down the street towards the bus stop, “do you want to go home?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam sighs, “not really.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, keeps walking, “where do you want to go?” 

 

“The future,” Adam says, he’s beginning to sound extremely miserable now, and Ronan is beginning to suspect he’s not actually suddenly sobered up, just changed tipsy tacks. 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, tugs at Adam’s hand to pull him closer, and then swings his arm around Adam’s shoulder, “well we’re doing that. Kind of slowly, but it’s happening.” 

 

“Can I ask your advice?” Adam asks, presses his face into Ronan’s armpit, which is usually just a bad idea, and tonight is no exception. He doesn’t seem to care though. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, wonders if he should call Gansey up so he can have someone with an actual brain to give the advice. 

 

“Ok,” Adam mumbles, he’s not even looking at the footpath anymore, is just letting Ronan lead them down the street, “so, say y’ve not seen your family for a while, an’, an’, they jus’ call you up outta the blue,” he says slowly. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Hypothetically,” Adam clarifies, “an’ they say they need money for th’ hospital, an’ even though they never fuckin’ paid for any of y’r education? Or y’r hospital trips? You still owe ‘em, yeah?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “hypothetically,” he says, “it would depend on the context of it all.” 

 

“Right,” Adam sighs, “would you?” he asks, “if it was your family?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “but that’s in my context.” 

 

“An’,” Adam sighs again, heavier this time, “you have money, I guess.” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, uncomfortable with the bitterness in Adam’s voice, “I guess I do.” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says again, his voice taking on sudden clarity again like it had when they’d gotten out of the house. It’s like he keeps reaching sober dips in the road, “Sorry. I’m talkin’ like an idiot. Jus’ ignore me, ok?” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, he’s not at all equipped for this, “you can talk to me about shit, y’know?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, snorts, “like you can talk t’me ‘bout your shit?” 

 

He has a point. 

 

“Well,” Ronan says, “maybe in a couple more dates, then?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “maybe.” 

 

They’ve reached the bus stop now, the next bus that’s useful for them arrives in 12 minutes, so Ronan sits them down on the bench, keeps his arms wrapped around Adam’s shoulder. 

 

“Do you want to go home,” Ronan tries again, “or would you like to come back to mine, for a bit? Have a coffee?” 

 

“By coffee,” Adam asks, he’s speaking very slowly now, as if he’s trying to overturn his tipsiness by giving each word enough time to sink in, “do you mean coffee or somethin’ else?” 

 

“It could be tea,” Ronan offers, “or hot chocolate. Or water. But I am talking about drinks. Not anything else.” 

 

“Ok then,” Adam says, “yeah. I wanna see your place.” 

 

“It’s not as tidy as yours,” Ronan says, and Adam laughs a little. 

 

“Right,” he says, “you know my room is the only tidy room in my flat.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, smiles back, “but my flat doesn’t have any tidy rooms.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Gansey is home when they get in, which isn’t a surprise seeing as he had specifically told Ronan before he went out that he’d be home, and to come chat with him if needed after he got in. It is a bit annoying though, because Gansey being home means Gansey wanting to talk to Adam and Ronan would prefer that it’s more of a Ronan and Adam have hot chocolate and cuddle time.

 

“Ronan?” Gansey calls out as Ronan shuts the front door behind Adam, “Back already?” 

 

“With Adam,” Ronan replies in warning, and Gansey appears in the doorway a moment later wearing a surprised expression and bright pink boxers. 

 

“Adam!” Gansey says, “I’m just making myself a tea, can I get you anything?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, he’s sobered up a lot on the bus ride and short walk home, but Ronan knows he’s still a little unsteady, “yeah, peppermint?” 

 

“Coming right up,” Gansey says cheerfully, “hot chocolate for you, Ronan?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan grunts, reaches out to steady Adam as he pulls his shoes off, “We’ll just stay in the lounge.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, already disappearing back through the door to the kitchen, apparently much more comfortable with this whole situation than Ronan was. 

 

As soon as he releases Adam’s arm, Adam makes his way to the nearest couch, and collapses down on it, closing his eyes immediately. Ronan follows, perches on the cushion next to him, and waits. 

 

“Fuck,” Adam whispers, “I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Why?” Ronan asks, genuinely curious, and Adam cracks one eye open to look at him vaguely suspiciously. 

 

“If this is embarrassing for me,” Adam mumbles, “I feel like it’s gotta be a lil embarrassing for you.” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says easily, scoots backwards so he can lean against the back of the couch, drapes one arm over Adam’s shoulders, “you’re not being embarrassing.” 

 

“It’s not exactly a great look,” Adam objects, “your date coming round for the first time pissed.” 

 

“You’re not quite what I’d call pissed,” Ronan shrugs “plus, Gansey knows and likes you, it’s not like you’re some random stranger I've brought home to puke on his couches.”

 

Adam snorts, opens his other eye, “Have you done that?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “well, not with a random stranger at least.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “a very carefully picked stranger, then.” 

 

“You’re an ass,” Ronan says, “how are you feeling?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says, then, “you’re honestly not… mad at me, then?” 

 

“Why would I be?”

 

“Because,” Adam rolls his eyes, “I took you to a party which was even more boring than I thought it would be, introduced you to a bunch of homophobic pricks, got sloshed, and tried to make out with you in a hallway.” 

 

“I had fun, though,” Ronan says, is only vaguely surprised to find he’s not lying, “I enjoyed watching you shade assholes, and I definitely enjoyed the attempted making out.” 

 

Adam raises his eyebrows, and Ronan shrugs, “I’m not lying,” he says, “I’m not saying we should do this ever again, but I’m not lying.” 

 

Adam stares at him a moment more, then shrugs as well. “Ok,” he says.

 

Gansey brings them their drinks, and then joins them on the couch to ask about their night. Ronan carefully leaves out the bit about Adam feeling shitty, spends the majority of the narrative describing most of the party guests as Tad Carruthersesque motherfuckers.

  
  


-

  
  


It’s around about midnight and Gansey is yawning dramatically, checking his watch, swearing with even more added drama, and then turning to Adam. 

 

“Are you staying the night?” he asks.

 

“Uh,” Adam replies, glances at Ronan, “I wasn’t really planning on it,” he says. 

 

Ronan thinks about it for all of 3 seconds. His bed is a lot bigger than Adam’s bed which would at least cut down on the likelihood of him kicking Adam in the fucking face. He kind of feels like not being alone tonight. Thinks Adam might kinda feel like that too. 

 

“You can,” Ronan says, “if you want. My bed’s big enough.” 

 

Gansey and Adam look surprised at this. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, looks like he’s not sure what to say. 

 

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” Gansey announces loudly, “let me know if you’re leaving so I can say goodnight.” He stands, collects all their mugs, and swiftly escapes. 

 

Adam looks to Ronan. 

 

“You can stay,” Ronan repeats, “I’m fine with it.” 

 

“So it’s after 3 dates that I get into your bed then?” Adam says, his tone is teasing, but his face is anxious. 

 

“Has it been 3 dates?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, screws his face up in concentration, “Movie night counts, yeah? Then there was the art gallery and tonight. 3. We’re not counting Sunday, are we? Or like when I interrupted your hang with Blue and Noah?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan shrugs as well, “I guess 3 is around about right. Yes. After 3 dates you can share my bed. For sleeping.” 

 

“Right, yes,” Adam hurries to say, “I know. That’s what I meant too, just sleeping.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“So, what?” Adam asks. 

 

Possibly he’s still a little tipsy, though it’s been hours. 

 

“Are you staying?” Ronan clarifies. 

 

“I’d like to,” Adam says slowly, it feels like there’s a ‘but’ coming. Ronan gets in first. 

 

“I’d like that too,” he says, “do you want to borrow some sleep clothes?” 

  
  


-

  
  


It is a little awkward at first. He's never actually had anyone stay over in his room before, except Gansey and Noah, but that doesn't count. Adam appears to be finding it a little nerve wracking as well, because when he returns from the bathroom where Ronan had sent him to change, he just stands uncomfortably by the door, gripping the bundle of his clothes tightly to his chest like a shield. 

 

“You can get in, you know,” Ronan says flatly. He's sitting up in bed, phone in hand. He'd decided it would be less awkward if he were already in bed with his attention elsewhere. He wasn't actually doing anything on his phone, just holding it with the screen unlocked to give the appearance of busyness. 

 

“Is that ok?” Adam asks, not moving from the door. Ronan rolls his eyes. 

 

“Obviously,” he says, “I said you could.” He grabs the edge of the blanket and flips it down to offer Adam an opening, and Adam finally shuffles forwards, depositing his clothes on his backpack which is sitting on the floor at the end of Ronan’s bed. He hesitates again a little at the edge of the bed, then perches on the mattress and slowly folds himself down. 

 

“Hey,” he says once his head is on the pillow, eyes closed. 

 

“Uh-huh?” Ronan grunts, can't tear his eyes away from Adam's face, his tanned skin, his high cheekbones, the light flick of his lashes, the dip of his lower lip. 

 

“Thanks,” Adam says simply, moves his hand under the sheet to feel for Ronan's, laces their fingers together, “I didn't want to go back yet.” 

 

“Obviously,” Ronan says again, snorts a little, “and leave my hot bod?” 

 

“You're full of it,” Adam laughs, opens his eyes and shoves Ronan's arm. Ronan grabs back at him, tussles for a moment, then lets Adam pin his shoulders down. 

 

“Full of what?” He teases, “awesomeness?” 

 

“Ha,” Adam says, “I was thinking more like shit.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan pouts theatrically, “you wound me.”

 

“I could kiss it better?” Adam suggests, and quite honestly this feels like a much better idea than lying next to each other like awkward planks of wood. 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, as if he needs to fucking think about this, “that could work.” 

 

Why the fuck are they so bad at this? Who decided that they could be this fucking awkward? 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, props himself up on his elbow and moves until he’s hovering over Ronan, “tell me where it hurts?” 

 

This is ridiculous, and yet still manages to stir up an entire host of butterflies in Ronan’s stomach. It’s worse than the fucking grease smudges on his neck. 

 

“Everywhere,” he says truthfully, “it hurts everywhere.” 

 

“Babe,” Adam says, voice suddenly soft, soft, soft, “you good?” 

 

Ronan goes for nonchalance, “We’re at ‘babe’ now, are we?” 

 

Adam is close enough that Ronan can only see one of his eyes roll, but he’s pretty sure the other one has also been rolled. He leans in, presses a soft kiss to Ronan’s cheek. There’s still an undertone of vodka, but he smells more like peppermint now, peppermint and laundry detergent from Ronan’s borrowed pjs, and sweat. If he concentrates hard enough, he can smell the grease from earlier as well. 

 

“We could be,” Adam says against Ronan’s skin, “I’d like to be,” he adds, dots kisses down from Ronans cheek to his jaw to the curve of his neck while Ronan tips his head back. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, not in any capacity to argue here. He lifts a hand up to cup the back of Adam’s head, drops his own head further back, “babe.” 

 

“Mm,” Adam mumbles, kisses the top of Ronan’s sternum, “is this where it hurts?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, grips at the back of Adam’s hair, there’s barely enough to hold onto. 

 

“Is that better?” He kisses it again. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Where else?” Adam asks, pushes himself up, and then holds himself over Ronan. 

 

“Here,” Ronan says, taps his lips. Adam smirks at him, and then he’s dropping himself down against Ronan, chest to chest, lips to lips, legs tangled together along with the blanket.

 

When they eventually surface, partially for air, partially because it’s too late for Ronan to get up and go have a very personal shower, Adam rolls off of him, but keeps his arms around Ronan’s waist. 

 

“Feelin’ better?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I guess that makes up for insulting me.” 

 

“It was a lot of effort,” Adam yawns, “so good.” 

 

“Are you?” Ronan asks, “Feeling better?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, closes his eyes tightly, presses his forehead against Ronan’s shoulder, “I am. Thanks. Sleep?” 

 

“Please,” Ronan says, yawns as well, “I apologise in advance for any sleep punching I might do.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, doesn’t move out of Ronan’s arms, “is this a likely event?” 

 

“Maybe.” 

  
  


-

  
  


By some twist of happy fate, he doesn’t end up punching or kicking Adam in his sleep, which means he’s somehow gone another day without Adam breaking up with him. Although he’s not entirely sure if they’re at the point where you break up, or if they would just ‘stop seeing each other’. It’s not really something he feels like he can ask Adam about. 

 

By some twist of less happy fate, Adam is awake at 6.30. Awake and getting up. 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan mumbles into his pillow as Adam slides slowly out from under the sheets, “the hell is the time?” 

 

“Just after 6:30,” Adam replies, voice low, “I have work.” 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan repeats vehemently, “seriously?” 

 

“Yup,” Adam whispers back. He’s finally managed to get fully out of bed, stands beside it and stretches, “just a quick starter shift at the garage.” 

 

“Just,” Ronan scoffs, then forces himself up on his elbow to squint blearily at Adam, “do you need a ride home? Or to work?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, he’s digging in his backpack for his work shirt, “I’ve got everything I need here, or at the garage, and there’s a bus that’ll take me basically straight to work from here.” 

 

“I could still drive you,” Ronan yawns, “then you could stay in bed with me for a bit longer.” 

 

Adam pauses in taking his borrowed shirt off, looks at Ronan, smiles. “If I get back in,” he says, “I’m not getting back out.” 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Ronan says, has to concentrate hard to keep his eyes open. 

 

“Mm,” Adam says, he sounds altogether too happy for someone awake and moving at this time in the morning, “maybe next time.” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan groans, dropping backwards onto his pillows again, “I hate next times.” 

 

“Poor you,” Adam snorts, changes quickly. “Hey,” he says once he’s dressed, “if you’re not completely sick of me, do you wanna grab breakfast tomorrow? I have shit on all day but I wanna see you.” He perches on the edge of the bed, reaches out to run his palm over the rough buzz of Ronan’s head. 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, closes his eyes, “I - I actually can’t.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, he sounds vaguely surprised, “ok.” 

 

“I mean,” Ronan says hastily, clutches at Adam’s hand still on his head, “I’d like to, it’s just that I’m busy, otherwise I’d say yes, obviously, even though I hate getting up early-” 

 

“It’s fine,” Adam interrupts him, “honestly Lynch, you’re allowed to be busy, I’m not offended.” 

 

“What about lunch?” Ronan suggests, continues to hold onto Adam’s hand tightly, “I could do lunch?” 

 

“Ah,” Adam grimaces, “I’ve got an extra shift at the cafe that’s during lunch, sorry babe. I’m just gonna be booked up tomorrow.” 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, now that this has been a thing suggested and then no longer available to him, he really, really wants it, “I could probably cancel my thing tomorrow, I mean, Calla will be mad probably, but I could reschedule it, I’m not as busy as you-” 

 

“Ro,” Adam says, “honestly it’s fi- Calla?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah?” 

 

“Isn’t that Blue’s aunt?” Adam asks, face scrunched into confusion, “The angrier one?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah?” 

 

There’s a moment here in which they both look at each other, Ronan watching Adam’s face slide from confusion to realisation and then quickly into careful blandness. 

 

“If you think that would work,” Adam says, “I would like to see you.” 

 

“I think it would work,” Ronan mumbles to the wall over Adam’s shoulder, “I’ll text you later once I’ve confirmed with Calla.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, slides his hand out from under Ronan’s, round to cup his face, then leans in to kiss him, “you gonna go back to sleep now?” 

 

“Maybe,” Ronan grumbles against Adam’s lips, wants him to stay like that for longer, “I might draw some dicks.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Adam says, he’s standing up again, slinging his backpack over his shoulders, “send me pics.” 

 

“Pervert,” Ronan mumbles, drops face down back into his pillows, “you send me dick pics.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says brightly, leaves. 

  
  


-

  
  


Thursday

11:02 (am)

~(image attached)

~Drawing dicks is harder than anticipated. 

~Partially because I had to hide it the entire time. 

 

11:04

-suffering is part of art bb

-I love it

 

11:05

~Good. Because now I’m walking around with a drawing of a dick in my workbook and it’s embarrassing me. 

 

11:06

-You’re so fucking straight laced. 

 

11:07

~bi laced. 

 

11:08

-That’s not as funny as you think it is. 

 

11:09

~It’s hilarious. 

~Did you draw any dicks? 

 

11:10

-No. 

-Well yeah

-But I got my paints out and painted over them I’m actually gonna paint a thing that isn’t’ genitalia. 

-probably. 

 

11:11

~I’m psyched to see it. 

 

11:12

-pfffffffff

-no one’s gonna see it

-i’m gonna paint it and then i’m going to throw it out

 

11:13

~Oh c’monnnnnn

 

11:14

-don’t art shame me. 

 

11:15

~I can’t art shame you if I’m not even allowed to see your art. 

 

11:16

-Well you are. So stop it. 

 

11:17

~What are you painting?

 

11:20

-Shit. 

 

11:21

~Legitimate shit or metaphorical shit? 

 

11:22

-Haven’t decided yet. 

-Are you in class? 

 

11:23

~I am in 2 minutes

 

11:24

-:(

 

11:25

~xxx

  
  


-

  
  


12:32 (pm)

-Hey do you still go to boxing classes? 

 

12:40

#Ya!!!!!! mondays and wednesdays!!!

 

12:41

-Does Dec still go?

 

12:41

#IDK? I thnk he goes to a gym closer to his flat????

 

12:42

-I’m thinking about starting up again.

-Would you be embarrassed having your older brother coming to class with you? 

 

12:45

#FUCK NO HELL YEAH

 

12:46

-uhhhhhh

 

12:47

#THATD BE SO MEAN RO ID LOVE IT IF YOUCAME BOXING WITH ME 

 

12:48

-Cool. I guess I’ll call up and start  a new membership. Same gym, yeah? 

 

12:48

#YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) :) :) :) :) 

 

12:49

-Ok dude. I’ll text you on sunday or some shit, ok? 

 

12:50

#LOVE YOU 

 

12:51

-Yeah love you too. Dumbass. 

  
  


-

  
  


It turns out that being productive is excessively exhausting. It’s not like he’s really done much. He’s primed a canvas. He’s stared at his paints. He’s texted his brother. He’s checked the gym number on his phone is still current. It’s already too much. He already feels like he needs to get into bed for the rest of the week. Or take a hit. Or get drunk. Or all three, honestly. 

 

He makes a playlist instead. Well. He makes a playlist to go with how fucking exhausted he currently is, then he deletes the playlist because part of him is saying that if he listens to it right now he’s going to actually get into bed and never get out. Then he makes a playlist to go with his general undercurrent of baseless rage. Then he deletes this one too because he doesn’t really need any more excuses to be angry about shit. Then he makes a playlist specifically for Gansey. It’s less a playlist for Gansey and more a playlist designed to piss Gansey off. 

  
  


-

  
  


The Richard Campbell Gansey III PL

  * Angel Saw Reggie’s Dick -The Termite
  * Evil Dick -Body Count
  * See Dick Run -Foetus
  * My Dick -30H!3
  * Dick In The Air -Peaches
  * My Dick -Big Pun
  * Good Dick -Plies
  * Dick and Jane -Bobby Vinton



  
  


-

  
  


He sends it to Gansey. Waits ten minutes. 

  
  


-

  
  


2:02

_Ronan. 

 

2:03

-Dick?

 

2:03

_Are you, mayhaps, bored? 

 

2:04

-I have no idea what you’re talking about. 

 

2:05

_You’re cooking dinner tonight. 

 

2:05

-:(

 

2:06

_dick. 

 

2:06

-:)

  
  


-

  
  


He should probably do something else productive now. He could clean the bathroom. He could tidy his room a little. He could do the dishes and shock Gansey into a heart attack with a clean kitchen. Or he could lie on his floor amidst his muck and make Adam a playlist as well. 

This one is less for Adam than it is for Ronan. By the time he’s finished with it, he’s fairly convinced that it’s utterly too embarrassing to ever show to Adam. 

  
  


-

  
  


AP is a loser PL

  * Sleepwalker -Adam Lambert


  * Alibi -Dessa
  * Anybody Else But You -The Moldy Peaches
  * Arsonist’s Lullabye -Hozier
  * Bloodstained Heart -Darren Hayes
  * In This Shirt -The Irrepressibles
  * Sober & Sober II -Lorde
  * Wild Honey -U2
  * Why Do You Love Me -Garbage 



  
  


-

  
  


3:09

/hey cumslut

/(image attached)

/rmber this?

 

3:10

/(image attached)

/i do

 

3:17

/fondly

  
  


-

  
  


He calls Calla. Figures he’s put it off for long enough already. He’s not so sure about her work hours though, or if she even has set work hours. Hopes he manages to call while she’s too busy to answer and gets to relay his message to voicemail instead. 

 

He’s apparently run out of luck for the day. 

 

“Calla Johnson,” Calla Johnson answers immediately, voice sharp and clear, “What do you want, Ronan?” 

 

“Wow,” Ronan says, “rude.” 

 

“Mhm,” Calla says agreeably, “when you’re my age you’re allowed to be rude on the phone.” 

 

“How did you know it was me?” Ronan asks, “My number ought to be private.” 

 

“Oh,” Calla says, “It is. I’m psychic.” 

 

Ronan snorts, “Right,” he says, “well then you know why I’m calling.” 

 

“Yes,” Calla says with so much confidence Ronan could almost believe that she was indeed psychic.

 

“Can we shift tomorrow’s session to a different time?” Ronan asks, “I’m going to be busy -”

 

“How does 1:30 suit you?” Calla asks without a beat, but including a loud slurping noise like she’s drinking a slushy. 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah I guess.” 

 

“Right,” Calla says, “I’ll see you then. Have fun.” 

 

“Bye.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Now he has to text Adam to let him know, and then he can lie on his bed and disassociate for a while. He makes the mistake of lying down first, forgets to text Adam. Luckily Gansey gets home at 5 and reminds Ronan he’s still attached to his body by sitting down on his legs. 

 

“Hey,” Gansey says, “what’s so exciting about the ceiling?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says pleasantly, shuts his eyes, “what do you want for dinner?” 

 

“Lobster,” Gansey replies promptly, laughs as Ronan attempts to kick him even while his legs are being sat upon. It doesn’t work. 

 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, wriggles his legs until Gansey shifts off of them, “I’m making mac ‘n’ cheese.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, pokes Ronan’s side, “what’s up with you?” 

 

“Nothing’s fucking up with me,” Ronan says, finally gets to kick Gansey, “I’m just in a shitty mood.” 

 

“Is this a new development?” Gansey teases. It would have pissed Ronan off if it had been said without the undercurrent of concern Gansey appears to be attempting to hide. 

 

“I’m tired,” Ronan says, pushes himself up right. 

 

“Did you sleep badly with Adam over?” Gansey asks, Ronan shoves him. Not for any particular reason, more because he can. 

 

“No,” he says, “that was fine. It was...nice,” he mumbles, “I felt really good this morning. Then I overdid it I guess.”

 

“Huh,” Gansey says, glances around the room, “you’re painting?” 

 

“Kinda,” Ronan says, “stop fucking my painting up with your greedy eyes.” 

 

“God,” Gansey rolls his eyes, shoves Ronan back, “I’m not gonna pry, you jerk. I’m putting the kettle on. Want anything?” 

  
  


-

  
  


7:49

-I can do breakfast tomorrow. 

 

7:53

~Oh cool! About 9.30? 

 

7:54

-Ok. Where? 

 

7:55

~Uh good question. Do you have anywhere you like for breakfast? 

 

7:56

-Adam. Parrish. Babe. Do I look like the kinda guy who goes out for breakfast, like ever?” 

 

7:57

~There’s a bakery/cafe thing across the road from the mechanics? I think it’s called Rosie’s Rolls? 

 

7:58

-Sold. 

 

7:59

~:)

~Calla all good with you shifting your appointment? 

 

8:04

-Yeah. 

-Could you not tell Blue, btw. I don’t want her to know. 

 

8:05

~Of course. 

~Can I ask why you don’t want her to know? 

 

8:07

-Because it’s her aunt and that’s kinda fucking weird idk man. I just don’t want to. 

 

8:08

~That’s fair. 

 

8:09

-Noah and Gansey know. BUt it’s not exactly like i want this to be a conversation topic. Just so you know. Like, if you accidentally mention it in front of them thats’ fine. 

-I’d prefer if you didn’t though

-it’s not something i wanna advertsise

-not beause im embarrassed i just dont wanto get into it

 

8:10

~babe, of course. 

 

8:11

-You really are serious about the whole babe thing then

 

8:12

~I like it. Babe. It’s nice. 

 

8:13

-fucking soppy. 

 

8:14

~Do you want me to stop?

 

8:15

-fuckk offff

 

8:16

~Oh so you like it then ;) 

 

8:17

-fuck off. 

 

8:17

~;)

 

8:25

-Have you sorted that hypothetical situation of yours by the way? 

 

8:42

~Yes. 

 

8:43

-Ok

 

8:45

~Hey babe I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you when I’m home if it’s not too late ok? 

 

8:46

-no such thing as too late. 

  
  


-

  
  


Probably sensible people realise that 2 am is indeed a ‘too late’ time, but Ronan has never been accused of being sensible. Anyway. It’s not like he’s staying awake on purpose, not like he’s waiting up for Adam to text him on purpose. It’s purely accidental, and very irritating. He’s pretty sure that Adam must already be home, that he probably got home around about midnight or some shit and decided that it was too late to text Ronan, or had just forgotten to text, and that was fine. There was a very notable difference, however, between saying this to yourself and convincing your fucking dumbass brain to accept it and go to sleep. 

 

He had spent an hour and a half already attempting to just go the fuck to sleep, and the last half hour attempting to convince himself that texting Adam now was just clingy and stupid, especially seeing as they were meeting up in 7 and a half hours. 

 

He’s just decided to fuck his pride and text Adam anyway, when his phone lights up with a text from him. 

  
  


-

  
  


Friday

2:11 (am)

~I hope you’re asleep! Just wanted to say sorry for not texting earlier. See you soon x

 

2:11

-the fuck are you doing up so late you have work again in like 5 hours dont you???

 

2:12

~Some shit came up.

~The fuck are YOU doing up so late?  

 

2:12

-Couldn’t sleep. What shit? 

 

2:13

~I really need to sleep, can I tell you tomorrow? 

 

2:13

-You’re gonna tell me? 

 

2:13

~If you let me sleep now

 

2:14

-goodnight 

 

2:14

~x

  
  


-

  
  


“You’re up early,” Gansey comments as Ronan comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Gansey is in the shower, but any problem he might have had with Ronan barging in had been forgotten about a decade ago. “You usually sleep in right up ‘til when you have to be in the car.” 

 

“I’m not going to therapy this morning,” Ronan says through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, pokes his head around the shower curtain, “I thought you had therapy on Friday and Tuesday mornings now?” 

 

“I do,” Ronan begins, but Gansey interrupts before he can finish. 

 

“Did something go wrong?” he asks, half his torso is out of the shower now, water getting everywhere, “Are you ok? Why aren’t you going?” 

 

“God, Gans,” Ronan grunts, leans over to shove his soap slippery shoulder, “get back in the fucking shower. I’m going this afternoon. Nothing is fucking wrong. Or more wrong than usual.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, lingers a moment longer hanging out of the shower, a small puddle forming below him, then pulls himself back under the shower stream, “why?” 

 

“I’m having breakfast with Adam,” Ronan says, spits into the sink probably a little too viciously, “are you extra twitchy this morning?” 

 

“No,” Gansey says, “just curious.” 

 

“Well,” Ronan says, “stop it.” 

 

“Stop being curious?” Gansey says, faux offense colouring his voice, “I may as well stop breathing.” 

 

“I’m putting coffee on,” Ronan says, “want some?” 

 

“Oh!” Gansey exclaims, “Yes please.” 

 

“Cool,” Ronan says, flushes the toilet on his way out of the bathroom. Shuts the door on Gansey’s scream of shock and anger. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


Adam looks like shit. He’s leaning against a street lamp, arms wrapped around his jumper wrapped torso as if it was a lot colder than reality. As Ronan approaches, he can see Adam’s eyes are not only decorated with heavy bags, but also red rims.

 

“Fuck,” he says in lieu of a proper greeting, “you look like crap, what’s up with you?” 

 

Adam snorts, releases his own arms in favour of hitting Ronan’s upper arm, shrugs, “Whatever,” he says, “you hungry?” 

 

Ronan shrugs as well, Adam rolls his eyes, they walk in together. 

 

Once they’re seated, coffees and bagels on their way, Ronan leans over the tabletop to lift his hand to Adam’s face. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “do I need to go beat some fucker up?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, lifts his hand as if to bat Ronan’s away, but then just loops his fingers round Ronan’s wrist instead, “Why would you need to beat someone up?” 

 

“You look upset,” Ronan says flatly, “what’s up?” 

 

Adam just stares at him for a moment, then shrugs a little, releases Ronan’s wrist, and leans further back in his seat, effectively pulling out of Ronan’s reach. 

 

“Is this about your hypothetical situation?” Ronan asks, well aware that he’s being pushy, well aware that he hates it when people are pushy. 

 

“I’ve picked up a couple of extra shifts,” Adam mumbles, “at a factory near here. Night stock take, really easy, just exhausting.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“I need the money,” Adam says simply, bitterly. He’s wrapped his arms around himself again. The lighting inside is really not doing him any favours, the warm yellow of the light only serves to make his skin seem sallow, too taut over his cheeks, his bags darker. 

 

“For your parents?” Ronan pushes. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says, doesn’t offer additional information. 

 

“Why?” Ronan asks again. He doesn’t want to let this drop. Not when Adam looks so upset about it. 

 

“My mum’s in hospital,” Adam mumbles, “she - uh - she broke her collarbone, and it caused complications. They don’t have the money for it.” 

 

“Neither do you,” Ronan points out. 

 

“I can get it though,” Adam snaps, his arms are tightening around himself, “I am getting it.” 

 

“What about your dad?” Ronan asks, watches as Adam all but flinches, “Why can’t he pick up some extra shifts or something? You’re already working way too much, and studying.” 

 

“He can’t, ok?” Adam says, “He - There isn’t any other option here, Lynch.” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says, he can’t smooth his face out from the expression he knows is not exactly nice, “he couldn’t work to pay for your medical bills, either then? Or your school bills? Haven’t you already increased your shifts lately to pay for your broken arm?” 

 

Adam nods stiffly. 

 

“So, he can’t work because he’s uh … injured or some shit? Or because he’s an asshole?” 

 

“Maybe it’s none of your business,” Adam says sharply, and Ronan snorts. 

 

“Maybe,” he agrees, “but I seem to remember you saying you’d tell me what shit was going on, just earlier today. It’s not like I’m gonna make you tell me about shit you don’t want to, but I kinda feel like it’s a little my business if my boyfriend is obviously upset and inches from death by exhaustion.” 

 

Adam’s expression changes now from tightly blank to a sudden twist of discomfort, or disgust, or something between those. It takes Ronan until Adam’s expression has settled into plain anger to realise what he’d said. 

 

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Adam snaps, “my shit doesn’t belong to you.” 

 

This is the worst fucking date Ronan has ever been on. So long as you don’t count the literal car crash with K as a date. Which Ronan did not. 

 

“I’m not saying that,” Ronan snaps back, “fuck’s sake, Parrish, I’m not - fine, we’re not fucking boyfriends or whatever, I can still be worried when you look so fucking shitty, you asshole.” 

 

To his absolute horror, there’s tears sliding down Adam’s face. 

 

“Fuck,” Adam says angrily, swipes roughly at his face, “fuck,” he repeats, then stands suddenly, knocking the chair back loudly as he does so, “I’m - I’m going to the bathroom,” he grits out. 

 

Leaves. 

 

The girl behind the counter watches him stalk away, then turns slowly to look at Ronan, who scowls at her, and turns away.

 

At least, Ronan thinks, shell-shocked, at least Adam hadn’t just straight up left. None of this shit is ok. He kind of wants to get up and leave, himself. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He’s not emotionally stable enough to deal with someone else's explosive emotions. Not when they weren’t the kind of person he could just punch to make up with. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Their coffees arrive.

 

Ronan follows Adam to the bathroom. 

  
  


-

  
  


It appears empty at first glance, but then he can see that one of the stalls is shut and locked, so he leans against the sinks, folds his arms, breathes. 

 

“Adam,” he says quietly, “ I- let’s talk about this.” 

 

He can hear Adam’s breath hitch in the stall, followed by a watery chuckle. “About what?” Adam says a half moment later, voice rough, “about how much of an asshole I am?”

 

“Stop with the self deprecation,” Ronan sighs, “it’s harder for me to call you an asshole when you already have.” 

 

“I like to do things for myself,” Adam mumbles. 

 

“Come out, will you?” Ronan says, shifts against the sinks uncomfortably, “We don’t have to talk about your parents or whatever.” 

There’s a long pause, and then Adam unlocks the stall door, but doesn’t open it. 

 

“Adam,” Ronan says, “I can’t do this shit.” 

 

Now Adam pushes the door open, stays inside, leaning against the doorway. His eyes are very pink now, face wet. “Oh,” he says flatly, “ok.” 

 

“Ok?” Ronan frowns. 

 

“Ok,” Adam repeats, shrugs, “I”m not gonna argue if you wanna break up with me.” 

 

“Fuck’s sake,” Ronan snaps, “I’m not breaking up with you, asshole, I’m saying I can’t - I don’t want to - I don’t know what I’m saying, but I'm not breaking up with you.” 

 

Adam stares at him. “Oh.” 

 

“I mean,” Ronan falters, clears his throat, folds his arms tightly, clears hi throat again, “unless that’s what you want. Fuck, Parrish.” 

 

“I don’t,” Adam says loudly, “I don’t.” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says to the tiled floor, “but you don’t want to be my boyfriend, either?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, then groans, “no, wait, look - I do. I do want to be your boyfriend - it’s just - ugh. I’m shit at this,” he says, and Ronan snorts. 

 

“No shit,” he says, blinks hard at the floor. 

 

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Adam says plainly, “but I’m freaked out about… owing you shit.” 

 

“Well that’s dumb,” Ronan says unhelpfully, and Adam laughs painfully, 

 

“I know,” he says, “I know it’s dumb. But it’s true. I freaked out earlier. Badly. And I’m-” he pauses here as if he needs to work up the courage to continue, coughs, “I’m really fucking sorry for doing that to you,” he says, “you didn’t deserve any of that, that was fucked up of me.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “it was. But it’s like - it’s whatever.” 

 

“No,” Adam says, groans, grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, “it’s not like whatever. I like you. I don’t wanna fuck you up-” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says, “so-?” 

 

“So,” Adam says, “let’s get our breakfast and talk about it?” 

 

“Let’s eat in my car,” Ronan suggests, “feelings aren’t something I like to have in public.” 

 

“Ok.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They sit in the backseat, breakfast in between them. 

 

“Right,” Adam says eventually. He’s clutching his coffee tightly, hasn’t taken a single sip from it yet, “when I was 17,” he says slowly, “I filed for emancipation, got it, and moved into that flat above St Agnes.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be saying anything here or not. 

 

“I have a restraining order against my father,” Adam continues blandly, “but my mother still lives with him. I - I feel guilty about leaving her there. And don’t - don’t - I know it isn’t my fault, but I still feel guilty that I’m out of there, that he’s not allowed to even come near me, so when she - she’s in hospital because of him. I feel like I owe her. He isn’t going to pay up for it, and she can’t - so.” 

 

This is a lot to take in, a lot confusing and disturbing as well. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says again, wants to reach over their bagels to take Adam’s hand, but Adam’s still clutching his coffee leaning back against the window. 

 

“It’s not like she’s ever - I don’t hate her,” Adam mumbles, “I don’t ever wanna see her again, but I don’t hate her. I wanna help if I can, and I can, so.” 

 

“You can,” Ronan agrees slowly, really doesn’t want to end up arguing again so soon, “but it’s obviously fucking you up.” 

 

Adam laughs humorlessly, “Yeah,” he says, “I - so. That’s why I’m tired and upset, and both look and act like complete shit. There.” 

 

“And the -” Ronan isn’t sure how to go about this, if he ought to just leave this for another time, “-the whole boyfriend issue?” 

 

Adam shrugs, sniffs hard, brings his coffee up to his face but still doesn’t drink any. “I fought so hard for so long to belong to myself,” he says, “for my problems to be mine just as much as my successes are mine. It… scares me- the idea of belonging to someone else scares me.” 

 

“You wouldn’t belong to me,” Ronan says, a little harsher than he means, “I don’t want to own you.” 

 

“I know,” Adam sighs, “I know that. I just said I was scared. That’s all.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, sighs as well, the situation seems to call for it. “Do you - do you want to talk about this more? Do you want me to ask questions?” 

 

“Not really,” Adam says, “I - I hate talking about this, I hate thinking about it. Can we - I will tell you more, I guess. Just, not right now. Is that ok?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, means it, “of course.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, finally drinks his coffee, takes a huge gulp, “um,” he says, “Blue knows about it. She’s even met my parents. She uh - she helped me file for emancipation. So. I think Gansey might know a little. Noah probably knows a bit too. So it’s not a secret, just -” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “yeah.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam repeats, takes another gulp of coffee. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I really did just want to have breakfast with you, not to explode at you.” 

 

“Eh,” Ronan says, “why not both.” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “I am sorry.” 

 

“I forgive you,” Ronan says simply, needs Adam to know this, “I’m not mad.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, picks at his bagel - sesame and salmon - “and you’re sure you wanna be my boyfriend?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, firm, “God. If you do I mean. It’s not exactly been fucking long or anything, I know, but, I like you, even when you’re an asshole, so.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “ok.” 

 

“Cool,” Ronan says, “cool, cool, cool.” 

 

“Dork,” Adam says, finally smiles a little, “how’s your bagel?” 


	4. Chapter 4

He drops Adam off at uni. It makes sense seeing as they’re already in Ronan’s car. It also means they get to spend a little bit more time together, and right now, Ronan wants to spend as much time as he can next to Adam to show Adam that he’s not mad, that he wants to be there, that he can be there. It also means that he gets to have Adam kiss him goodbye again, which is just the shade of domesticity that Ronan lives for. A casual, lived in feeling. 

 

After Adam’s gone inside, he still has an hour and a half to kill before therapy, and he doesn’t really want to spend it by going home and giving his brain enough time to sit still and panic. He really wants to go out and drive. Go out and leave his mind behind in the dust, cool his stomach down in the rushing wind. 

 

He’s so fucking scared of catching Kavinsky’s attention though. He doesn’t want to be goaded into a race, to be hemmed in on all sides by growling engines. He knows it’s his own fault that driving is now so intrinsically linked to Kavinsky in his mind. That it’s no longer just how he calms his mind down but also how he breaks it apart. 

 

-

 

He ends up driving towards Calla’s, out to the open roads past her house. Kavinsky was unlikely to ever bother haunting those sort of boundaries. It really wasn’t his scene; it wasn’t dangerous enough, wasn’t edgy enough to make it fun for him. Luckily for Ronan, he wasn’t looking for the danger of oncoming traffic, or sharp corners, didn’t care for the barely lit alleys and speed bumps. He just wanted to drive and drive and drive until he was only wind and speed. He has always been best when driving by himself. Sure, he loved the thrill of seeing the rest of the cars in the race left behind him, skidding to shabby halts as they realise there is no way they’re overtaking him. He yearned for the pulse in his stomach - half fear half thrill - that came from a near collision. He was best by himself, with no other cars on the road, because then he was only driving for himself. Every part of himself in the open felt like a performance he had never consented to be part of, every line of his body felt like it was forever being observed and judged, every fuck up like it was being recorded. By himself he was for himself, his tires could fucking smoke, he could fudge his shifts, his turns, no one would fucking care. It was all on him. 

He puts on his music. Drives for the length of one crashing tumbling mind numbing song, then brakes hard and switches playlists. He still has no intention of showing this one to Adam, but he wants to revel in the feeling of the lyrics, muddled in with the freedom of the open road. 

He doesn’t know what to make of Adam’s reveal. He’s not sure how much he can make of it. It’s like Adam has poured out a jigsaw puzzle into his lap, and the only idea he has of what it’s meant to make is Adam himself. It’s like a fucking wazgij puzzle. Adam’s the result of whatever is in the picture, but he keeps his face so blank so much of the time. 

It was easy enough to see parts of the picture. Adam came from a background that Gansey would call ‘rough’, or maybe, ‘troubled’. He had obviously spent his entire life ducking from bill to bill from class to class, from job to job. He looked like the kind of person who had never been on anything you could call a holiday, like what he calls relaxation is what Ronan calls going to bed at night. Adam belonged entirely to himself, took this very seriously. 

Some parts are harder to see, or, maybe, harder to look at, even if the answer was simple.   
It was his parent’s fault. That was maybe the simple answer. It was his father’s fault. Harder to look at. It was what his father did. That was harder to see. Possibly only because Ronan did not want to see it. 

His mother; broken collarbone. His father’s fault.   
Adam; Broken legs, broken arms, broken everything once or twice - wouldn’t tell Ronan how or why. Adam; guilty, too guilty for leaving his mother. Too guilty over his father.   
His mother who he says he does not hate. What kind of statement is that. I don’t hate her - that’s nothing. He doesn’t want to see her ever again - that’s everything. 

It is all too much to think about, to think about how quickly Adam got angry over it, to think about how angry he was at his own tears. When Ronan closes his eyes, just briefly in the longer stretches of the empty road, Adam’s wet face fills his mind’s eye. The disgust Ronan thinks he saw, it’s there, but it’s not disgust for Ronan, it’s disgust for himself, it’s disgust at himself. At his tears, at his anger, at his every reaction. 

When he opens his eyes, he has to blink the burn out of them, turns corners wildly, wants to be able to help convince the disgust out of Adam. He knows he doesn’t know Adam yet. But he feels like he does. He feels like he understands Adam, like he’s meant to know Adam. He feels like he could spend the rest of his fucking life getting to know Adam more and more and never finding a single thing about him that disgusts him. 

 

-

 

“Huh,” Calla says as Ronan stalks into the room and drops himself down in his chair. She’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit today, and her hair, still in its cornrows, is twisted into buns reminiscent of princess Leia. Her mouth, painted black, curls up at the corners, “do you want to talk about the boy you like today instead?” 

“What?” Ronan snaps, tugs his feet up onto the cushion of the chair, “what’s that face for?” 

“I know Adam, you know,” Calla says indelicately, presses one long black nail against her cheek, “he’s very lovely.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ronan snorts, folds his arms tightly over his chest. 

“Ok,” Calla says, “something you don’t know; the car crash wasn’t your fault.” 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, “I fucking know that. K was driving.” 

“I’m not talking about that car crash,” Calla says.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ronan hisses, “I’m regretting letting you read all my notes.” 

“It’s important,” Calla says, shrugs, “important to be able to put it to rest.” 

“It is at rest,” Ronan retorts, “you’re the one fucking digging it up.” 

“I’m not,” Calla says she doesn’t seem at all deterred, “I’m simply poking it. It’s asleep, not dead. We don’t have to talk about it yet if you don’t want to.” 

“I don’t want to,” Ronan says, “I don’t want to.” 

“What do you want to talk about?” 

“I don’t,” Ronan repeats, squeezes his arms tighter around himself, “can we just sit here and not talk?” 

“Well,” Calla says, “we can, yes, but I feel like you’ll think it a waste of time afterwards.” 

Ronan doesn’t reply, just shuts his eyes, tips his head back against the head of the chair. 

“Coffee?” Calla asks, he can hear her standing, collecting her own mug from the small table. 

“Yeah,” he says to the ceiling. 

She comes back a few moments later, filling the room with fresh coffee fumes alongside her own floral perfume, and puts his mug on the windowsill by his chair. 

“Alright,” she says, settles back into her own seat, “I’m going to read until you want to speak.” 

“Mhm,” he says, keeps his eyes shut even as he reaches for the coffee. 

It’s not until his mug is empty and cool in his hands does he finally speak again. 

“When Adam and I - when we began,” he begins, “Gansey told me he had had a hard time, a hard life or some shit, and I replied that I was obviously going to be bad for him, then.” 

“Go on,” Calla says. She’s lowered her book, shut it on her finger to keep her place, but not put it aside yet, as if she doesn’t think he will keep talking for long. 

“I - I don’t know much about what his life has been like,” Ronan says slowly, “Adam doesn’t - he hasn’t said much to me about it, but it sounds like it’s been - been violent.” He pauses here. It doesn’t matter that he’s had half an hour already to sit in his thoughts here, and an hour and a half before that to try and settle them down, this is still hard to collect coherently in his head, to compose into words. Calla isn’t reacting at all yet. “Everything in my life feels violent,” he continues eventually, “even my skin feels violent. I was kidding when I said that to Gansey, that I would be bad for him. Well, mostly kidding. But it’s true.” 

Calla still doesn't react, doesn’t reply. She’s waiting for Ronan to continue, so Ronan does. 

“I’m an asshole,” he says, “but I don’t want to - I don’t want to be the kind of asshole that brings up someone elses… someone elses shit. Trauma. Whatever.”

“So,” Calla says, “you’re planning on hitting him?” 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says, he feels like he’s going to vomit. Like he’s been hit in the fucking stomach with nausea, “What the fuck? No. Fuck no. Never.” 

“Uh-huh,” Calla says, calm, “you’re going to scream at him, then?” 

“No,” Ronan spits, “I’m not-” 

“Are you going to hurt his friends?” Calla continues, talking over him, “Are you going to try and stop him from leaving? From moving forwards? From growing?” 

“Stop it,” Ronan says, “no.” 

“So what do you mean?” Calla asks. She’s too good at feigning ignorance. 

“I mean,” Ronan hisses, “I mean that I’m fucking - I argue all the time, I get angry, I yell at people sometimes, swear at them. I - I - I’ve fought with people, hurt them - even the shit I do for fun - boxing - that’s fucking violent and-” 

“Have you sworn at him yet?” Calla asks. 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “I’m already - I’m already-” 

“Does it upset him?” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan scoffs, “it’s not like he would tell me-” 

“Wouldn’t he?” Calla says, “I can’t claim to know him that well, but he does strike me as the kind of man who speaks out about what he does and doesn’t like. Like the kind of man who won’t stay if he doesn’t want to. He’s had enough of that.” 

“How do you know?” Ronan demands, “How do I know?” 

Calla shrugs, “Maybe I don’t,” she says, “but you could ask.” 

“He might not answer.” 

“And he also might answer,” Calla replies, “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Ronan.” 

“Why not?” Ronan says, “Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?” 

Calla laughs at him. Then she laughs at him a little bit more. Then she laughs into her coffee mug. It’s empty so it echoes. Ronan sits and scowls. 

“That is absolutely not what you’re paying me for,” Calla finally says, puts her mug back down, “Not that it would make any difference. If I told you what to do you wouldn’t do it.” 

“I have so far,” Ronan replies grumpily, “I’m looking up shit to do, I’m talking to fucking Gansey about this shit. I-” 

Calla’s waving her hand dismissively, “I didn’t tell you to do that, I simply suggested it.” 

Ronan’s scowl is beginning to hurt his face. 

“Anyway,” Calla continues, “if I was going to tell you what to do? I would say that you should talk to Adam about what you’re worried about.” 

“You realise,” Ronan grunts, “that we’ve not even been together a month? We only officially became boyfriends today?” 

“Yes,” Calla says, “I am aware. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to communicate with each other.”

 

-

 

Friday  
2:29 (pm)  
-xxx

 

2:40  
~xxx to you too

2:41  
-Would it be creepy of me to come get a shake from Poldma Pies while you’re working? 

2:45  
~Yes. Come anyway. 

2:45  
-Be there soon. 

 

-

 

Persephone is at the counter when he walks in. The air is thick with the smell of honey and ice and the chatter of customers straight out of school. It reminds Ronan of highschool afternoons at Nino’s; him, Noah, Gansey, all squished into one side of a booth, peering into Gansey’s journal, splashing sweet tea on the pages, smearing ketchup through the ink. Teasing Gansey every time Blue made an appearance. Never knowing that Adam was just through in the next room. Never knowing that not knowing was one day going to be so stupidly painful. 

“Ronan,” Persephone greets him happily, “did you have a nice time with Calla?” 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, swears more out of shock than anger. “Did she tell you? Isn’t that against some fucking therapy code?” 

“Oh,” Persephone looks a little shocked, “nobody told me, you just smell like her. Are you seeing her for therapy, then?” 

Ronan’s scowl is mostly to try and cover up his flush, not that it works. He doesn’t want to answer, so he folds his arms, and Persephone nods. 

“Chocolate shake?” she asks, “With fries?” 

“Um,” he says, hadn’t been planning on fries, but honestly, “yes please.” 

“Good,” she says, “I’m still working on the pecan pie adjustments. Maybe next week for that.” 

“Ok,” he says, because that’s what he thinks she wants him to say, tugs his wallet out of his jeans pockets. 

Persephone looks over her shoulder as he pays, leans backwards and calls into the kitchen which is blocked off from the rest of the cafe by an odd looking bead curtain. 

“Adam!” She calls, “Take a break, I’ve ordered you a shake.” She turns back to Ronan, hands him the receipt, “You don’t mind, do you?” 

The receipt is for 2 shakes and the fries. He hadn’t even noticed. “Of course I don’t,” he says truthfully, steps aside from the counter to let the next people order. Adam comes out from the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron. He looks just as exhausted, just as red-rimmed as he had this morning, but less drained. 

“Hey,” he says to Ronan, and Ronan wants to respond by dragging him out of the cafe and putting him to bed. 

“Hey,” he says, then, “you know I only met you like...a couple of weeks ago?” 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Adam replies, he’s leading Ronan to a small table near the front of the cafe, “you feel so different than you did the last time you were here with me.” 

“Different in a bad way?” Ronan asks, sits down opposite Adam, fiddles with the ghost shaped salt shaker, “Or just different?” 

“In a good way,” Adam says, reaches across the table to take Ronan’s hand, salt shaker and all, “in an ‘I trust you’ way.” 

“I want to tell you that you’re incredibly naive for trusting someone who you barely know,” Ronan tells the tabletop, “but I trust you too. Plus that’d be pretty shitty of me if I implied that you shouldn’t trust your boyfriend.” 

Adam makes a face that Ronan can’t quite decipher, and Ronan releases the salt shaker so he can grip Adam’s fingers easier. 

“What?” he asks, “I can not call you my boyfriend, if that’s easier?” 

“It’s not that,” Adam says, shakes his head, “well it is that a little, but again, not bad, just different.” 

“Can I ask how you’re feeling?” Ronan asks next, addresses this to the table as well, feels Adam’s fingers flex in his. 

“You can,” Adam says, “but you don’t have to.” 

Ronan rolls his eyes, makes sure to stare Adam down as he does. Adam rolls his eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” he says firmly, “I’m - exhausted, and I’m fine.”

“Ok,” Ronan says, “what can I do to help? If you’re going to be all fucked up with exhaustion for however long this is going to take to pay the bills, what can I do to help you?” 

“Uh,” Adam says, frowns, “noth-” 

“No,” Ronan says, he’s suddenly a lot more frustrated than he has any right to be, “don’t say nothing. It doesn’t have to be anything big, Parrish, it could be like - bringing you a fucking coffee sometimes, or not texting you on your busier days, or whatever.” 

“Why?” Adam asks, still frowning, still holding Ronan’s hand though. 

“Because,” Ronan snaps, “I hate feeling useless.” 

They’re silent for a while, in which time their shakes are brought out. Adam has a strawberry one, heavy with swirled ice cream. 

“Ok,” he says, “you want to help?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says. 

“Will you draw me more cat pictures?” 

“Uh,” Ronan says, hadn’t been expecting anything like this, “yeah I guess. Of Jane?” 

“Yeah,” Adam shrugs, “or, well, any pictures, actually. I really like the stuff of yours I’ve seen.” 

“You’ve only ever seen my cats and genitals,” Ronan points out, can’t stop himself from grinning. Adam lifts one shoulder in a half hearted shrug, squeezes his fingers. 

“I’ve seen more than that,” he admits, “Gansey showed me some of your stuff before we met, you know? He talks about you all the time.” 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, “God, he’s such a loser.” 

“You’re his best friend,” Adam says, “people are losers about their best friends.” 

“Who are you a loser about, then?” Ronan asks. 

“Uh,” Adam says, gets a moment of reprieve as the fries arrive, “nah, I’m just a loser in general. I don’t - Blue and Noah, and Gansey now too I guess, they’re my closest friends. I don’t know if they think the same way, though, so.” 

Ronan snorts, shoves 5 fries into his mouth at once, regrets it immediately as it burns the roof of his mouth, talks through them all, “fuck off,” he says, “Gans talked about you all the time too. Even while I told him to shut up. He’s basically in love with you.” 

“That would be awkward,” Adam grins, “Blue would have my head.” 

“Nah,” Ronan says, finally swallows the fireball in his mouth, “I think she’d be pleased to have someone take him off her hands every so often.” 

Adam laughs, takes one of the fried crispy bits, and chews it thoughtfully like it was a whole fucking fry, “well,” he says eventually, “I like him too, but I like his friend a fuck load more.” 

“Noah will be pleased to hear,” Ronan replies immediately, and Adam leans across the table to smack his shoulder. “Ok,” Ronan says, grabs at Adam’s hand before he can pull it away again, holds it to his shoulder. They probably look like complete idiots, sitting there holding both of their hands like they’re doing some dumb sort of ritual over a bowl of fries. “I can draw for you.” 

“Only if you want,” Adam hastens to add, “I don’t want you to force yourself to do it.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says again.

Adam grins up at him. No, he smiles up at him. “How was… Calla?” he asks, “You good?” 

Ronan supposes it’s fair give and take. He asks a question Adam probably doesn’t want to answer, Adam asks a question Ronan probably doesn’t want to answer. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m good.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, he’s still smiling, but it’s softer. Definitely not something you could mistake as a grin. “You-” he says, “-you can, if you need something from me too? You can ask for that. I want to be here for you too.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, “I’m good.” 

“Babe,” Adam says, and Ronan’s pretty sure that that’s cheating. “You can’t insist on being a good boyfriend if you won’t let me be a good boyfriend.” Ronan is also pretty sure that this is cheating too. 

He’s blushing, and it really doesn’t suit his leather jacket and shaved head look. 

“I just -” he says, “I like talking to you.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, “well good. You can ask for more, y’know.”

“Maybe later,” Ronan says, shrugs, then, “or, how long is your break right now?” 

“Uh,” Adam says, twists their joined hands on the table to look at his watch, “I have about 10 more minutes.”

“Well uh,” Ronan says, is failing in the whole smooth kind of look, “how do you feel about, uh, in my car, uh-” 

“Ro,” Adam says, his voice is all a laugh, “are you asking me to make out in your car, right now?” 

His face is probably ridiculously red right now. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, chugs the remainder of his shake. 

“Ok,” Adam says, grabs another handful of fries, “c’mon then, babe.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan mumbles under his breath, happily abandons the rest of the fries, “ok.” 

 

-

 

He honestly doesn’t care how much of a horny teenager this probably makes him look, he has an almost desperate need right now to get to press his lips to Adam’s skin. Well, not a need, a want, but it feels like a need. He wants to be touched. Not even in a way involving flushed skin and harsh breath, he just wants the comfort of skin on skin, the press of veins, the knowledge that he inhabits a body that can be touched, that can touch, without anything being broken. The fact that in this case it means that Adam is pressing him out and down against the backseat of the BMW is definitely a bonus here. 

He doesn’t even want to get fired up right now, he wants to be doused, he wants to be cooled down, he wants Adam to keep pressing his chilled and chapped hands against the sliver of his stomach revealed by the scrunching of his shirt, wants Adam to press his whole weight down against him and just kiss the air out of his lungs. 

His wants are probably enough to fill an entire book with terrible poetry and embarrassing feelings. His wants are enough to be filling his lungs up with liquid ready to spill out of him at every touch. Enough to force the breath out of him all rough and wet and stupid.

“Ronan,” Adam is saying against the stubble behind his ear, “hey, hey, Ro, it’s ok-” his lips brush against Ronan’s jaw, and then he’s pushing himself up on Ronan’s chest even as Ronan is tugging him back down. “Babe,” Adam says, voice low, “what’s wrong?” 

“Fuck,” Ronan mumbles, because nothing is actually wrong, and he wishes his emotions, his stupid bodily responses would get on board with that. He throws his arm up to cover his face, turns into the crook of his elbow, “I’m fine,” he says, his spare hand still tugging at the fabric of Adam’s shirt, worn out and soft under his fingers, “honestly - I’m just-” he doesn’t know what he’s just. But Adam’s waiting, silent above him, one hand pressed down in the leather seat by his hip to keep him upright, the other against the skin of his shoulders. “-overwhelmed,” he settles on, “I’m not good with - with - with affection?” 

“Ok,” Adam doesn’t sound convinced, “ok,” he says, “you haven’t - you were ok last time,” he says, “has something happened? Did I do somethi-” 

“No,” Ronan groans, they’re wasting precious kissing time, but he supposes it’s somewhat necessary to finish this conversation. “Sometimes it’s just easier,” he says, “it’s harder after talking about...shit.” 

“About shit,” Adam repeats, but leans down a little again so he can press a light kiss to Ronan’s cheekbone, “about our shit, or shit with Calla?” 

“Both,” Ronan says drops his arm back down, “I am fine,” he reiterates, “you can just ignore the - uh - the-” 

“No,” Adam sighs, kisses Ronan’s other cheekbone, “y’know, I’m just not comfortable with uh - with making out with you while you’re crying?” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Ronan sighs, “how annoyingly fucking embarrassing,” he adds in a mumble, and Adam drops the rest of his weight back down against Ronan’s chest, tucks his head in on Ronan’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says, “although I know that just saying that isn’t exactly useful.” 

“You’re not gonna go?” Ronan asks, wraps his arms firmly around Adam’s hips, even as he half expects Adam to be getting up and leaving now. 

“Uh,” Adam says, “I still have to go in like… maybe 4 minutes? But no? I’m not going unless you want me to?” 

“Why would I want you to?” Ronan grumbles into Adam’s hair and Adam makes a noise between irritation and amusement. 

“Why would you think I would want to?” Adam shoots back. “Because we’re not kissing? I’m not just gonna ditch because of that. I wouldn’t leave you while you’re upset, Ro.” 

“I’m not upset,” Ronan sighs, wishes his eyes would stop making him look like a liar. 

“Well,” Adam says, “maybe not, but, c’mon.” 

Ronan doesn’t really want to ‘c’mon’, but neither does he know how to deny this ‘c’mon’. “Ok,” he says, “you’ll stay, then.” 

“As long as I can,” Adam replies. 

“Fuck,” Ronan snorts, “you have any idea how much of a damned cheesy romance novel we sound like?” 

Adam snorts as well, pitches his voice higher, “Oh darling,” he sighs, “don’t leave me,” then he drops his voice into something low and husky, “I’ll never leave you.” 

Ronan laughs outright, surprising the tear ducts in his eyes into shutting up, slaps Adam’s back, “fuck,” he laughs, “God, you’re an idiot.” 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, he’s pressing kisses against Ronan’s cheek, down his jaw, up his temple, “I’m the idiot.” 

“So fucking heteronormative too,” Ronan adds, happy enough, comfortable enough in Adam’s arms to tease, “why the fuck am I the girl, anyway?” 

“Pfft,” Adam snorts back, Ronan can feel his grin against his cheek, “so sue me for falling into society’s traps occasionally.” 

“Occasionally doesn’t usually mean while lying in your boyfriend’s arms,” Ronan points out, likes the feeling of Adam’s laughs huffed against his ear, “anyway, you’re the lawyer, you sue me.” 

“What am I suing you for?” Adam asks, and Ronan shrugs underneath him. 

“Failure to deliver on a promise?” he suggests, and feels Adam’s grin shift into a frown. 

“What promise?” he asks, and Ronan rolls his eyes, nevermind that Adam can’t see this. 

“Making out in the car,” Ronan says, “kinda fucked up on that one, didn’t I?” 

“Ok,” Adam says, and his voice is overly serious as he pushes himself up again to look down at Ronan, “babe,” he says, “uh, just - look, so you know, I’m sure you do, but-” he cuts himself off to frown, to shake his head, to shift himself a little further upright. “You never have to carry through with anything like that if you change your mind,” he says, firm, “I don’t care if I’m really into it or whatever the fuck, if you don’t want to do something, or can’t do something, it doesn’t matter if we’re fucking doing it, we’ll stop. You know that, right?” 

Ronan’s face, is yet again, aflame. He doesn’t want to look at Adam, so he looks out between the front seats at the dashboard instead. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Ro,” Adam says, “if you’re ever uncomfortable with-” 

“I’m uncomfortable with this conversation,” Ronan interrupts, his cheeks feel warm enough to burst, “I don’t want to - let’s not.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, he sounds cautious, but not hurt. 

“Thanks, though,” Ronan mumbles, “I - thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Adam sighs, stops sighing as Ronan sits up underneath him, against him, presses their lips lightly together. 

“Mm,” Ronan says, shifts so he can drift his lips down Adam’s jawline, “do you have to go?” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “I kind of do.” 

“I’ll text you,” Ronan says, “or you’ll text me.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “what are you going to do now?” 

“Going home,” Ronan says, sighs as Adam clambers off of his legs, turns awkwardly in the cramped space to open the door, “before Gansey worries.” 

“Good idea,” Adam says, offers Ronan a hand to pull him out of the backseat, “I have an evening class and then late night mechanic work, then a factory shift, so I won’t be home until late, but I’ll keep in contact. Ok?” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, does not like this at all, “how are you getting home after your last shift?” 

“There’s a bus on that route,” Adam says, is patting down his apron where it’s gotten all pushed up and pulled out of place, “it takes me to just a block away from mine. I’ll be fine.” 

“If you’re not-” Ronan says, but Adam pats his chest, leans in to kiss his cheek. 

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats, “I promise.” 

 

-

 

Gansey is home when Ronan gets in. He’s sprawled out horizontally on the couch, eyes closed, glasses on, book splayed open on his chest. Ronan is gripped with the terrible desire to shock him awake by slamming the door or some shit, but somehow manages to quash this down, even attempts to keep his footsteps quiet as he makes his way through the lounge to his bedroom. 

Gansey usually has a bit of a fucked up sleeping schedule, like Ronan, they’ve both been cursed by insomnia and terrible judgement over how much sleep they can survive on. This isn’t because of that, Ronan thinks, which is why he’s at least attempting to be quiet. This, he’s pretty sure, is in response to Ronan, rather than to Gansey’s general academic insomnia. He had been staying up later than usual lately, keeping Ronan company when he needed it, waking whenever Ronan wanted him. It wasn’t a very restful past time, Ronan supposed, to always be on edge because your roommate has a habit of being self destructive and emotional. 

He throws himself down on his bed, buries his face in his pillow. He feels like his day has stretched into 2 seperate days, and it’s not even evening yet. His fight with Adam, if it was a fight, felt like it was already days ago. It’s been pushed into the past by Calla talking, by Adam’s fingers pressing against Ronan’s hips. Thinking about it still twists his stomach though, makes him feel nauseous and cold. His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he scrabbles for it with far more enthusiasm than he could ever live down if Gansey saw. 

 

-

4:32  
/u nva gna reply?  
/wht do i gtta do 2 gt u to pay attention to me bb?  
/im stll decdng wht 2 do wth u u no  
/so mny optns  
/hw bt ths?  
/(image attached)  
/(image attached)

 

-

 

His canvas, primed and ready, is teasing him from across the room. He knows what he wants to put on it, knows how he wants to put it on, just doesn’t know how to work up the enthusiasm to do it.   
He misses the feel of paint slick between his fingers, the look of it ingrained in the lines of his hands, splattered up his arms. He’d thrown out all his paint messed clothing afterwards. Missed those too. 

He has to sift through several random boxes of art supplies to find the ink pens he wants, and then he changes his mind, has to sift through another couple of boxes to find his pencils. Why his pencils were in the bottom most box of his shit, he did not know. Why he was a dumbass who decided that packing up all his art shit was a good idea, he did not know. Possibly genetics. 

Then he has to fucking find his sketching paper. He would just fucking sketch it out on some cardboard, or like, printer paper, but he kind of wants to look like he’s making an effort for Adam. Not that he thinks he can keep up this amount of effort for every picture he may or may not draw for Adam, but he thinks it’s probably best to start out a little bit higher. 

By the time Gansey appears yawning in his doorway, he’s crumpled up against his bedroom wall, curled around his sketchbook in a very uncomfortable position. 

“What’re you drawing?” Gansey asks through another yawn, leans against the doorway, “When did you get back? Was I asleep?” 

“None of your fucking business,” Ronan replies, not looking up from the paper. “I got back at like 4:30 or some shit. And yes, you absolute dumbass, you were asleep.” 

“Well I don’t know,” Gansey protests, pushes his glasses up to rub at his face, “you might have snuck in earlier or something.” 

“Are you hungry?” Ronan asks, swears as he fudges a line, “Because I could eat.” 

“Could you cook?” Gansey replies wryly, walks into the room and flops down on Ronan’s bed. 

“Well,” Ronan says, “I could call for a pizza.” 

Gansey snorts, then reaches out to poke Ronan’s shoulder. “Blue is coming over tonight. Are you alright with that?” 

“If I said no?” Ronan says, listens to Gansey sigh, and speaks again before Gansey can. “Of course I’m fucking fine with that,” he says, “this is your house.” 

“Our house,” Gansey corrects him, “and if you did say no, I would ask why, and then I would call Blue to cancel.” 

“Adam’s my boyfriend,” Ronan says then. He knows it’s completely off the track they were on, but it’s been pressing against his tongue since the morning, and he can’t keep it down anymore. 

“Huh,” Gansey says, “you guys are official then?” 

“You don’t sound at all surprised,” Ronan says, a little grumpy about this. 

“Well,” Gansey chuckles, he sounds like an old fucking man, “you two weren’t exactly subtle.” 

“Weren’t exactly subtle about what?” Ronan snaps, and Gansey chuckles again. 

“About how much you like each other?” Gansey says, “I always know when you’re texting him because you’re smiling at your phone. The two of you are like… glowing around each other.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan snaps, “that’s just your fairy tale brain.” 

“But it’s true,” Gansey insists, “I mean, you two are officially boyfriends now, so obviously you like each other a lot.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “but we’re not fucking glowing. That’s pregnant women and viagra commercials.” 

“Crude,” Gansey sighs, then, “do you want to invite Adam around for dinner too? We could have a double date dinner.” He looked overly pleased at his triple alliteration. 

“No,” Ronan says, presses down a little too hard with his pencil, indents his paper, “he’s working all evening, and until late.” 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “that’s a pity.” 

 

-

 

6:02  
~Finally taking a break now, what’re you up to? 

6:04  
-(image attached)   
-It’s Jane Austen as Jane Austen. 

6:07  
~Babe.   
~I love it.  
~Can I have the original? I have a desperate desire to frame it and put it on my wall. 

6:08  
-You really think it’ll match your decor? 

6:09  
~Is this a veiled insult over my lack of decor? 

6:09  
-Thinly veiled   
-Yeah you can have the original. Obviously. I drew it for you. 

6:10  
~<3 <3 <3 

 

-

 

“Ok so,” Blue says over the pizza, “fill me in.” 

“Fill you in on what?” Ronan snaps, or, attempts to snap through a mouthful of ham and cheese pizza. 

“On you and Adam,” Blue says, “obviously. What else would I ask you about?” 

Ronan rolls his eyes, “I don’t know, how I am?” 

“How are you, Ronan?” Blue asks, insincerity dripping from her voice. Gansey sighs from the kitchen where he’s pouring beer out. 

“Can you two please not fight!” He calls out, “I’ve only been out of the room a minute.” 

“We’re not fighting!” Ronan yells back, reaches across the couch to jab Blue’s thigh with his feet, “We’re chatting!” 

“Yeah, Dick!” Blue calls back, pokes Ronan’s foot hard, “Don’t be such a worry wart!” 

Gansey sighs again. 

“Seriously though,” Blue says, takes another large bite of her artichoke avocado pizza (Gansey may have once had the monopoly on terrible pizza tastes, but Blue, ever more outrageous, now held the winning place), “how are you? You’re looking both worse and better than usual.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “you really know how to dish out compliments, don’t you?” 

“It’s a talent,” Blue says primly, knocks her knuckles on his ankle, “you’re ok, yeah?” 

“When aren’t I?” Ronan replies sarcastically, grabs another slice of pizza (Safe, no fucking avocado) while Blue rolls her eyes. 

“Reasonably often, or so I gather,” Blue says bluntly, then, “I’m not asking you to spill your emotions on me, y’know, I’m not here for that kinda crap, I just want to remind you that I’m your friend too, not just Gansey’s girlfriend.” 

Ronan raises his eyebrows. “Please,” he says, “I think if I ever even thought that, you would turn up in my bedroom at midnight and murder me.” 

“I might,” Blue shrugs, “just remember that, ok?” 

“That you’ll murder me?” Ronan says unhelpfully, laughs as Blue slaps his leg. 

“No,” she glowers, “that you can talk to me if you want.” 

This isn’t how they do their friendship. Not so openly caring. Or, not so obviously outwardly caring. He nudges her thigh again, ducks his head to one side. 

“Thanks, Maggot,” he says. 

“Whatever, shit hole,” she replies happily, leans over the back of the couch, “Gans!” she yells, “Have you fallen down a wormhole in there?” 

“Uh,” Gansey calls back, “no, I spilled some beer.” 

-

9:02  
/How about this?   
/(image attached)

 

-

 

9:09  
~Have you ever wanted to murder someone over putting a book back in the wrong section? Or is that just a bookshop person thing? 

9:10  
-I feel like librarians would have the same murderous streak  
-But no I haven’t.   
-What was shelved where? 

9:13  
~50 fucking shades of grey in the kids picture book section.  
~I mean. Seriously. 

9:13  
-Yikes.   
-Somebody is either really stupid or really gross. 

9:18  
~Or both. 

9:20  
-how late will you be working tonight? 

9:36  
~Uh probably til about 2 again. 

9:37  
-Will you text me when you get home? 

9:38  
~Not if you don’t want me to. 

9:38  
-Don’t be dumb I’m obviously asking you to. 

9:42  
~Ok x gtg text you later x

 

-

 

Saturday  
12:56 (am)  
~My coworker is playing iggy azalea at full volume on his crap noise leaking headphones. 

12:57  
-Are you asking me to come kill your coworker? 

1:03  
~Could you? 

1:04  
-For you, of course. 

 

-

 

2:22   
~home

2:22  
-x

 

-

 

12:02 (pm)  
/(image attached)  
/This? 

 

-

 

His sketchbooks and pencils are still out, so it’s not too hard to drag himself over to them. What is hard is making his hand shift enough to actually create anything. What’s harder is making his hand stop when the paper is filled up. 

He draws trees, trees, trees, long spindly branches that are too long for the page, roots that curl up round the sides of the paper, silhouettes of trunks, details of bark. It’s a mess when he finishes, the paper dark with graphite. He snaps a photo of it anyway. 

 

-

 

1:03   
-(image attached)

1:09  
~This is gorgeous, Ro.  
~You’re so fucking good at drawing  
~damn 

1:10  
-fuck off. 

1:15  
~Y’know when I asked for drawings I didn’t really expect one daily. 

1:16  
-2 days in a row doesn’t count as daily. 

1:17  
~Ah you’re right, I take it back.   
~Did you sleep ok?

1:17  
-What kind of dumbass question is that? You were the one working til the asscrack of morning. 

1:18  
~You’re the one who stayed up like an idiot to text me back. 

1:18  
-I slept ok.  
-Did you?  
-Did you get to sleep in at all?

1:19  
~I had a shift at the mechanics at 7.30, soooo, no sleep in. I slept ok though. 

1:20  
-Fucking hell Adam. 

1:21  
~It’s not so bad. 

1:22  
-Whatever.  
-Are you working this afternoon as well? 

1:24  
~Yeah, I’m at Poldma’s  
~It’s just getting busier now. 

1:24  
-Fuck

1:40  
~text you later ok? X

1:40  
-Whatever  
-x

 

-

 

He remembers at 3:30 that he hasn’t actually called the boxing gym up yet. Procrastinates doing that for the next hour by scrolling around aimlessly on the internet. He’s half procrastinating because he knows the gym owner and doesn’t want to be roped into a conversation. He finally calls, and by a stroke of luck gets someone he doesn’t know there. Another stroke of luck reveals that he still has a membership there, apparently Declan paused it indefinitely, so he doesn’t have to go in earlier to fill out forms, just has to confirm shit over the phone, and he’s good to go in whenever. Now that he’s done this he supposes he ought to actually dig out his boxing gear. He doesn’t really want to. He takes a nap instead. 

 

-

 

3:09  
/(image attached)

 

-

 

“-was thinking we could make a pie or something-” Gansey is saying when Ronan blinks himself awake, “-maybe a quiche?” 

“What?” Ronan grunts, mouth dry, “the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Oh, you were asleep,” Gansey says, surprised, “I thought you were just ignoring me. Dinner?” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, “what time is it?” 

“A bit after 6,” Gansey says, “are you hungry?” 

“No.” 

“Did you have lunch?” 

“No.” 

“Did you have breakfast?” 

“Ah… no?” 

“So, quiche or pie?” 

“What’s the difference?” Ronan sighs, rolls over to bury his face in his pillow. He’s unlikely to find his way back to sleep, but he’d fucking like to. “Who cares?” 

“You care,” Gansey says firmly, crosses over from the doorway to the edge of the bed, and nudges Ronan in the ribs with his knee, “you always grumble at me if I give you quiche when you’re in a pie mood and vice versa.” 

“Well I dunno what kind of mood I’m in,” Ronan protests, protests further as Gansey grabs him round the back of the thigh and tugs him. 

“C’mon,” Gansey says, “come into the kitchen and help me cook.” 

 

-

 

They make quiche. They eat quiche. Then Gansey asks if Ronan wants to come to Blue’s with him to do some study. Ronan knows for a fact that Adam is currently at the fucking factory, doesn’t really want to bother socialising with anyone else. Gansey goes to Blue’s. Ronan goes back to bed. 

 

-

 

8:32  
~I got given movie tickets to the cinema just out of town. Do you wanna go see something with me next week sometime? 

8:39  
-Do you have time? 

8:45  
~I can make time. So long as it’s not a shitty movie. 

8:45  
-huh good point. What’s a shitty movie in your opinion?

8:46  
~Anything in which the plot is replaced with; a.explosions, b.sex, or c.overextended car race scenes. 

8:47  
-babe i’m so sorry we have to break up like right now

8:56  
~You better be fucking joking right now Ronan motherfucking Lynch. 

8:56  
-I am.  
-It’s Niall, actually, btw. 

9:02  
~??  
~Oh your middle name?  
~Ronan Niall Lynch. 

9:03  
-That’s me.   
-I’m a big fan of explosions and car scenes. I suppose I don’t hate plot though. 

9:12  
~Looked up the cinema.   
~You’re in luck.  
~They’re doing a rescreening of Fury Road. Keen? 

9:12  
-FUCK YES

9:16  
~Yay :)   
~When are you free? 

9:16  
-Pretty sure whenever you’re free. 

9:21  
~Tuesday evening? 

9:21  
-Cool.   
-Are you against kissing in theatres? 

9:34  
~Not after the lights are off :) :) :) 

9:42  
-I’m sorry about last time. 

10:01  
~Ro, honestly, I’m not at all upset about that. 

10:02  
-Well sure maybe, but it can’t have been a fun experience for you. 

10:05  
~I wouldn’t want you crying to be a fun experience for me. 

10:08  
~Do you wanna talk about it? 

10:08  
-Not really.  
-maybe we should.   
-I dunno. 

10:12  
~We don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t feel like it. 

10:13  
-maybe later. 

10:16  
~Ok babe. I gtg, I’ll text you later? X

10:17  
-x

 

-

 

11:59  
/Do you like my photos?  
/Feeling nostalgic?   
/Want more? 

Sunday  
12:14 (am)  
/(image attached)

 

-

 

12:49  
~I’m off earlier tonight, on my way home x

12:50  
-I hate to break it to you Parrish, but most people don’t consider this early. 

12:52  
~Huh. Just like how most people don’t consider 8 am early? 

12:53  
-No not just like that because most people consider 8 am early you dumbass

12:53  
~rude

12:53  
-butt

12:54  
~jerk

12:54  
-dummy

12:55  
~babe

12:55  
-That’s not the game we’re playing  
-you’re cheating  
-bb

12:56  
~Sweetheart

12:57  
-UGHHHHH  
-Honey

12:57  
~Sugar

12:58  
-Doll

12:58  
~Darlin

12:59  
-ok stop i can’t take it anymore you win oh my fucking god

1:07  
~xxxxxxxx  
~I’m home

1:10  
-go the fuck to bed

1:12  
~Gotta do some hw then bed

1:14  
-the fuck

1:15  
~You go to bed. X

1:16  
-:/ 

 

-

 

3:09  
/(image attached)

 

-

 

Ronan wakes up to far too much noise in his room, and also a vague headache that’s probably due to sleeping both too much and too little.   
“Fuck off, Dick,” he growls into his pillow, growls more as Gansey throws a handful of clothes at him. “The fuck?” 

“Your room is a mess,” Gansey says in lieu of a good morning, “how do you find anything?” 

“By looking where I left it,” Ronan snaps, forcing himself upright, “what are you looking for?” 

“Well,” Gansey shrugs, “I was looking for my phone, but then I found my jumper in your pile and wondered if you had my nice socks in here too.”

“That jumper is mine now,” Ronan says, scowls as he clambers out of bed to reclaim the well worn jumper from under Gansey’s arm, “and so are those socks.” 

“I like this jumper,” Gansey protests mournfully, doesn’t actually stop Ronan from taking it back and wrangling it over his head, “and those socks were so comfy.” 

“They still are so comfy,” Ronan says, pads back to the bed and flops down on it, “they’re just mine now.” 

Gansey sighs, toes the pile of clothes. 

“Why were you looking for your phone in here anyway?” Ronan asks, rolls onto his side to look at Gansey who’s still in his pajamas and wearing a despondent expression and glasses. 

“Because I can’t find it anywhere else,” Gansey replies. 

“Sucks to be you,” Ronan says, rolls back over to the wall. 

“I must have left it at Blue’s,” Gansey sighs, “it’s probably under a couch cushion or something.” 

Ronan makes a grumbling noise into his pillow. 

“Can I borrow your phone?” Gansey asks, “To call Blue and ask?” 

“Whatever,” Ronan mumbles, “you know my code.” 

“Because you haven’t changed it since high school,” Gansey says, fishes Ronan’s phone out from under his pillow, “what are you going to do today?” 

“Dunno,” Ronan says, “wanna get pie with me?” 

“Yeah sure,” Gansey says brightly, sits down on the mattress and leans back against Ronan’s hips, “pie for breakfast?” 

Ronan grunts his agreement, Gansey calls Blue. Blue finds Gansey’s phone squished down the back of the couch, says something to Gansey about how it got there that has Ronan groaning his disapproval and Gansey blushing.

“Can I invite Blue to breakfast?” Gansey asks, quickly muting the phone as he looks at Ronan, “She could bring my phone then.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan grunts, “so long as she doesn’t talk about your adventures last night.” 

Gansey winces, unmutes the phone, invites Blue. 

After he hangs up, Gansey stays leaning against Ronan, and Ronan spends a moment in the regained silence to take the time to wonder if Adam might be working at Poldma’s. Hopefully he would be. A kiss might be nice. Then Gansey ruins this quiet moment. 

“Ronan,” he says, and his voice is somehow both unyielding and extremely brittle at once, “why is Kavinsky sending you… porn?” 

Ronan’s eyes were already shut, but now he screws them up tighter. Gansey does not take this as a suggestion to leave, simply continues. He sounds horrified. 

“There’s- fuck, Ronan, this is all of you? Fuck. Ronan. What - hey-” he’s turning to grip Ronan’s hip with one hand, “-what is this?” 

Very unwilling, Ronan rolls back onto his back, cracks his eyes open to look at the screen of his phone thrust in front of his face. He’s never actually seen these photos before. He had been too drugged up and humiliated at the time to know or care that Kavinsky was taking them, let alone to want to see them, and he had been avoiding looking at any of Kavinsky’s texts more recently. It’s not pretty. It’s Kavinsky pressing him down against asphalt. It’s bloodied elbows and hands and face. It’s the blank expression Ronan knows he still wears far too often. It’s not something he would ever have wanted Gansey to see. Despite himself, he scrolls up, glances over the rest of the photos and veiled threats. The one Gansey had shown him was by far the easiest to look at. 

“It’s pretty fucking obvious what it is, dick,” Ronan snaps out. Difficult to snap when your throat is closed up and your tongue feels like it’s made entirely of salt. 

“Is this-” Gansey stutters, “is this recent? It isn’t, right? This isn’t recent, Ronan, tell me it’s not.” 

Everything about Ronan is raw right now. “Fuck off,” he snaps, has to gasp breath back in, “fuck off. It isn’t. I haven’t - that’s not - that’s from then,” he says, “it’s all from then.” 

Gansey keeps looking at him, and Ronan isn’t sure if it’s the rage or the horror in his stomach that’s pinching so hard he wants to throw up. 

“I’m with Adam,” Ronan spits, “and I - fuck Gans,” he says, “I don’t want to see this.” He thrusts the phone back at Gansey, can’t stand to look at himself anymore. 

“Sorry,” Gansey says, he’s gripping Ronan’s phone tightly, “fuck, Ro,” he says, “I didn’t think it was - it’s just - why now? What’s this about? Is he threatening to share these photos? How could you let him take them?” 

Definitely rage that’s overtaking in his early morning emotions right now. He chokes his words out over the bile at the back of his throat. “Fuck you,” he begins coherently, “I didn’t let him take them. Do I fucking look like I was in any - in any - in any capacity to be letting - to let him - to take ph - to - fuck you. I didn’t know they even exis-existed you - you dick.” 

They’re both silent for a moment. Ronan swallowing down on the lump in his throat, Gansey staring down at his knees. 

“Sorry,” Gansey says again, “sorry. I panicked. I - Ro, it’s just - these photos-” he pauses and Ronan would much prefer he just stop talking entirely. He doesn’t need to hear this. “You didn’t say it was this bad,” Gansey says eventually, “I knew it was bad, but not this - it - I can’t - I’m so-” He really, really doesn’t need to hear this. He needs Gansey to just stop. He needs this to not have happened.

“Fuck,” Ronan snaps, “this is why I didn’t fucking tell you, God.” 

Gansey looks up from his hands, face crumpled, eyes blurry with tears, laughs roughly, “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to make this about me.” 

“Oh fuck,” Ronan sighs. Pushes himself up off of the mattress and onto his knees to shuffle closer to Gansey, takes the phone from his limp hands, and chucks it across the room onto the clothes pile. “Fuck,” Ronan reiterates, “Gans, stop.” 

“Sorry,” Gansey mumbles. Now that his hands are empty, he presses his palms against his face, shoves his glasses up onto his head, presses his knuckles into his eyes, “sorry.” 

This is one of Ronan’s least favourite things about how fucked up he is as a person. Seeing how much his fuck ups affects the people he cares about the most. Seeing how fucked up it makes them. Gansey has always had this thing he does, this extremely irritating and painful thing, where he sees what Ronan’s fucked up, sees it and blames himself for it. It doesn’t make any sense. But there it is. There it is, Gansey fucking crying over Ronan, again. Ronan can practically feel the self-flagellation beginning. 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, voice harsh with his own tears. This is really not a fun way to start the day. “Don’t say sorry. Don’t. Just stop. Yeah, it was - it was - it is fucking shit, ok? But it’s - you don’t -” He has nothing he can say here that makes sense to him. 

“I tried,” Gansey is mumbling through snot, “I did, I tried to keep you safe. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry-” 

Fucking ridiculous. 

“That’s never been your fucking job,” Ronan snaps, wraps his arms around Gansey’s shoulders and tugs him into a rough approximation of a hug, presses his face to the mess of Gansey’s hair, tries not to get tears on his glasses. “None of this is on you, you asshole. Shut the actual fuck up.” 

“Um,” Gansey says after a few more moments of just generalised sniffling, “Do you - do you want to talk about this?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “I don’t.” 

“Will you?” Gansey presses, “With someone?” 

“I am with Calla,” Ronan mumbles begrudgingly, “a bit. Ok?” 

“Ok,” Gansey mumbles back, then, “Ro,” 

“I’m not taking the photos to the police.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey sighs, shifts under Ronan’s arms like he’s going to sit up and pull away, but then only wraps his own arms tightly round Ronan’s waist, “they’re evidence-” 

“Not enough,” Ronan insists, “it’s not enough to prove anything.” He barrels on here before Gansey can get another word in, has to say this now before he can change his mind. “Gans,” he says, “this isn’t - if you want to talk about this shit. You can. Like. With Maggot, or Noah, or some shitty therapist or whatever. It’s not - not fair. Not great of me to just fucking dump this all on you and then not wanna - wanna talk about it, so like. Yeah.” 

“Um,” Gansey mumbles, “I don’t want to betray your-” 

“No,” Ronan sighs, “God. That’s why I’m telling you to fucking talk to someone. Just. Look, you’re a fucking emotional idiot you need to talk about shit. So.” 

Gansey snorts. 

“Ok,” he says, grips the back of his/Ronan’s jumper, “thanks.” 

“I want pie,” Ronan mumbles, “do you still want pie?” 

 

-

 

They go to Poldma’s. Blue meets them outside, her face in a cheeky grin as she presses Gansey’s phone into his hand, but it simmers down into concern as she takes in Gansey’s more somber expression.

“Something happen?” she asks, loops her arm through Gansey’s and presses close to his side. Gansey glances at Ronan. 

“Hey Maggot,” Ronan grunts, he leans in against Gansey’s other side, props his chin up on the top of his perfectly brushed hair, “y’know your aunt, Calla?” 

“Um,” Blue says, suspicion narrowing her eyes, “I am certainly aware of my aunt Calla, yes?” 

“She’s my therapist,” Ronan says, “because I’m pretty fucked up, and Gansey shouldn’t have to deal with that. That’s partially what this shit mood is about.” 

“Oh,” Blue says, “Well. That is a wise decision. Thank God you went with Calla and not my mum, though.” 

“Yeah fuck that,” Ronan snorts, “I’d definitely accidentally call her Maggot and then I’d be in trouble.” 

“Oh yeah,” Blue laughs, “so much trouble. You wouldn’t find your nuts for at least a year.” 

“I don’t think I’d want them back after that long,” Ronan says, “pie now.” 

 

-

 

Adam isn’t working, which is sad, because Ronan could really do with a kiss right now. He isn’t texting either, which means he’s probably at the mechanics or in class. 

 

-

 

2:06 pm  
-Blue knows about Calla. 

2:12  
~Babe, how?

2:13  
-No, I told her.  
-I’m sick of making Gansey keep secrets from her.   
-of being a bad friend. 

2:15  
~I don’t think you’re a bad friend.   
~You’ve just had a hard time recently. 

2:17  
-Adam I really appreciate that  
-I do  
-But you don’t know me well enough yet to be able to say that   
-It’s not true. 

1:18  
~Ok maybe not. But Gansey talks about you with so much love, I don’t think you can be a bad friend. Noah too. Blue as well even. 

1:21  
-Gansey has too much love in him. 

1:22  
~Do you wanna tell me about how you think you’re a bad friend?

1:22  
-Not if you’re going to tell me that I’m not. 

1:23  
~I’ll listen. And I’ll tell you the truth. 

1:24  
-I was at Poldma’s earlier today. Wished you were there. 

1:25  
~Pecan pie yet? 

1:26  
-No. Banoffee. 

1:27  
~Nice. Seph’s banoffee is the best.   
~Do you wanna grab dinner with me tonight?   
~I have an hour between Poldma’s and the factory. 

1:30  
-Yes.   
-When? 

1:31  
~7.30?

1:31  
-I’ll come get you from Poldma’s. You wanna get something disgusting and greasy? 

1:32  
~Fried chicken hamburgers? There’s a place I like near the campus. 

1:33  
-Cool.   
-Am I being needy? 

1:34  
~What? 

1:35  
-Wanting to hang out so much. Is it needy. 

1:35  
~Babe I asked you out tonight.   
~You’re fine.   
~Where’s this coming from? 

1:36  
-It’s slowly coming to my attention that I spend a lot of my time relying on other people and I kind of don’t like that.   
-I don’t wanna start our relationship like that. 

1:37  
~Ok  
~I’ll tell you if you’re asking for too much. Ok? 

1:38  
-Can you also tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable

1:39  
~Uncomfortable about what? 

1:41  
-I don’t know. Yelling or swearing or whatever. 

1:43  
~Yes. Honestly. You do anything I don’t like and I’m going to tell you.   
~Seriously. I’m not here for that.   
~I like you. I’m not going to just let you treat me like shit. 

1:44  
-Thank you. 

1:47  
~Babe. You’re fine, ok? I’m really looking forward to seeing you tonight. 

1:50  
-Me too.

1:52  
~I’ll text you. I have to work.   
~xxx

1:53  
-x

 

-

 

3:09  
/(image attached)

 

-

 

He’s probably overly excited about seeing Adam. He had never expected to be one of those boyfriends. The kind that wants to see their partner every fucking day. He didn’t even always want to see Gansey every day and he loved Gansey. Probably give it a bit more time and he’ll be content to see Adam maybe once a week, once he knows more about him, once the novelty wears off a bit. This is a very cynical way to think about it, and would probably be very easily misunderstood. It’s not that he thinks he’s going to fall out of ‘like’ or whatever, it’s just that’s who he was. Or at least that’s who he thinks he is. Someone who prefers their own company. Maybe he’d be willing to change a little bit if the additional company was Adam. Maybe he’s supposed to. He doesn’t know. 

Anyway. 

Right now. 

He really fucking wants to see Adam, which is why he’s finding it very difficult to stay in the car while he waits for Adam to finish up at Poldma’s. He’d texted when he arrived, got a reply almost immediately saying that Adam was just wrapping up in the kitchen, and then had slumped back in his seat to wait. 

He hopes Adam will kiss him hello when he gets in. 

Can’t remember when he last brushed his teeth though. Thinks it was this morning. Hopefully Adam would still like him even if his breath tasted or smelt like shit. 

He cups his hands over his lower face to smell his breath, and Adam opens the car door. 

“Fu- uh - Adam,” Ronan says into his hands, “you surprised me.” 

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Adam says cheerfully, sliding into the passenger seat, “you were just caught up in your own head. It looked like you were going through quite a trip there.” 

“Oh?” Ronan snorts, drops his hands. His breath is passable. “That’s because I was thinking about Jane Austen.” 

“Good to know that flame’s still alight,” Adam says with a grin, then leans over the gear stick, catches Ronan’s face with his hands, “was your breath ok, then? Good enough to kiss?” 

“Shut it,” Ronan snarls, “find out for yourself.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, not at all put off, grips Ronan’s chin a little firmer, dry fingertips pressing into stubbled skin, tugs Ronan a little closer and kisses him lightly. “Not too bad,” he says when he pulls back, “could do with more chicken.” 

“You could do with more chicken,” Ronan retorts uselessly, “let’s go get it, then?” 

“Please,” Adam says, leans back to settle more comfortably into his own seat and pulls his seat belt on, “you know where we’re going?” 

“Google told me,” Ronan says, pulls out of his parking lot and glances over his shoulder just briefly as he performs a vaguely illegal u-turn, “I’ll get you there just fine, babe.” 

“Good,” Adam says, “because I’m starving.” 

“Hey,” Ronan says, “idea.”

“Oh?” 

“We don’t eat in the diner or whatever,” Ronan says, “we drive out over to that small forest reserve and eat in the car.” 

“I have work afterwards, remember?” Adam says carefully, and Ronan shakes his head. 

“It’s on the way,” he says easily, “it’d be probably get you there faster than if we ate at the diner.” 

“Ok then,” Adam smiles, “I’d love that. Romantic.” 

“Romantic my ass,” Ronan snorts, “I just like my car.” 

 

-

 

They get their heavily battered and grease filled chicken burgers as well as very heavy strawberry thickshakes and over salted fries, and Ronan drives them out to his favourite position in the park while Adam holds all the food on his lap and complains about his thighs burning. 

“You are such a whiny baby,” Ronan snorts as he yanks the handbrake on and unbuckles himself, “what do you want me to do about it? Kiss your poor leggies better?” 

“Yes,” Adam says, “but I’d settle for you just taking your burger and chips off of me.” 

“Well I’ll do that first,” Ronan says, “and maybe we can discuss the leg kissing afterwards.” 

“I would like that,” Adam says, takes a rattling slurp from his thickshake, “if I didn’t think this was you trying to steer the conversation away from previously mentioned topics.” 

Ronan unwraps his burger viciously, stuffs half in his mouth at once and chews vigorously. Adam sighs, but he sounds vaguely amused, and unwraps his own burger.   
Ronan almost chokes on the lettuce. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to be vaguely healthy. 

“Ok,” Ronan says eventually. He’s swallowed most of the burger, still has quite a lot in his mouth though, “which topics that I’m avoiding are we talking about?” 

“Well,” Adam says through a mouthful, “I’m interested in hearing why you think you’re a bad friend when so far all I’ve experienced is you being thoughtful and kind to me.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan mumbles, swallows the rest of his burger, almost chokes again, “that’s because you’re, because you’re - fuck off.” 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, leans across to lean heavily against Ronan’s shoulder, sucks at his thickshake, “so tell me then.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, shuffles down in the seat a bit more so his shoulder is at better leaning on height, leans his head against Adam’s, “well first of all,” he sighs, “I swear a lot at everyone because apparently I can’t take any compliments or shit,” 

“Mmhm,” Adam says, “I know that.” 

“Well you know it all then,” Ronan says roughly, takes another vicious bite of burger, “that’s it.” 

“Ok,” Adam says calmly, takes a rattling slurp of his thickshake, “that’s fair. I still think you’re pretty cool.” 

“I guess I’m ok with that,” Ronan says, leans down to sneak some of Adam’s thickshake and Adam bats at his head playfully. “I- sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Adam asks, pulls away from Ronan to lean against his window so he can look him over easier, “Why?” 

“Because I suck at talking about shit,” Ronan says, “duh.”

“I forgive you,” Adam smirks, “because you brought me here and it’s fucking gorgeous.” 

“You’re too easy,” Ronan says, “I bet you would say the same thing if I took you to the back of the diner parking lot.” 

“Maybe,” Adam says with an easy grin, “seeing as the view in the car is nice wherever we are.” 

“Y’know,” Ronan says, “you’re already my boyfriend, you don’t have to keep flirting with me.” 

“Don’t be a fuck ass,” Adam scoffs, “you’re my boyfriend, I’m going to flirt with you so much.” 

Ronan blushes, then sighs, then mumbles, “God. I - look, Parrish, I do wanna tell you about my shit - but it’s - there’s so much of it. I don’t want to get into this right now, I wanna eat this shit and kiss you and save depressing conversations for later.” 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, “that’s fine with me. I just wanna - just wanna make sure you know that you can talk about shit with me, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says.

 

-

 

What happens after he drops Adam off at the factory is something he should probably have been expecting, but somehow hadn’t been at all. His phone buzzes as he pulls in outside his flat, and he hesitates a moment before reaching out to it. It had been a strange journey, his relationship with phones, over just the last few weeks. He’d gone from never bothering with it, to carrying it everywhere in case Adam texted, to being scared to look at his texts in case the text was from Kavinsky, not Adam. Tonight’s text was from neither of them. 

 

-

 

9:07   
>Fucking hell Ronan, why the fuck is your disgusting piece of shit bf texting me pictures of you  
>I’ve already told you I fucking hate him, if you’re going to get back with that asshole don’t flaunt it in my face. 

9:17  
-Kavinsky is not, and has never been, my boyfriend.   
-Fuck off. 

9:17  
>Great, so you’re flaunting your fuck buddy in my face. Great. Thanks. So proud. 

9:19  
-fuc k OFF.  
-I haven’t been with K since before the crash. Not like that. Did you even look at whatever fuking photo he sent you? I didn’t want any of that shit  
-asshole  
-like i’d want tosend you pictures like that  
-i know you think im just a massive fuck up but i’m not that stupid

9:20  
>Well how the fuck was I meant to know????  
>Why the hell does he have photos of you like this, then??

9:25  
-I don’t want to have this conversation with you

9:25  
>I think I deserve this conversation, I’m the one being texted pornographic imagery of my younger brother. I want an explanation. 

9:25  
-There isn’t one

9:26  
>Come the fuck on.   
>Just tell me. Did Kavinsky force you into this?

9:35  
-Send me the photo he sent you. 

9:35  
>the fuck?  
>(image attached)

9:39  
-God.  
-Look at the fucking picture and tell me I look like I wanted that. 

9:39  
>Ronan  
>I think we need to talk about this. 

9:40  
-Why? So you can make your point about how this is my own fualt for being gay and depressed and an idiot? I already KNOW THAT SO FUCK OFF. 

9:40  
>No.   
>Because you never told me it was like that and I’m upset.   
>And I want to help. 

9:43  
-hahah

9:43  
>Can you try and not be a shit for just a bit?   
>I’m not the fucking enemy  
>I want you to be ok.   
>I want you to PLEASE consider going back to therapy. 

9:48  
-I am.  
-I started again recently.   
-See? I’m not such a huge fuck up. 

9:48  
>Oh. I’m really glad. Who are you going to? Do you want me to sort out the payments? 

9:50  
-God. No. 

-

Gansey interrupts this text conversation by tapping on his car window, and then opening the door to slide into the empty passenger seat. He looks worried. 

“Are you ok?” he asks, “You’ve been out here almost a full hour.” 

“I’m fine,” Ronan snaps, drops his phone onto his lap. Gansey looks skeptical. 

“You don’t look fine,” he says, “who are you so angrily texting? You and Adam aren’t fighting, are you?” 

“No,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, “it’s Declan.” 

“Ah,” Gansey says, he knows all about this, it usually doesn’t require any further explanation. Ronan thinks he might as well give it anyway. 

“K sent him a fucking porny pic of me,” Ronan spits out, “obviously Decan flipped. So, I told him a bit. I told him I’m going to therapy too.” 

“Oh!” Gansey says, his face can’t seem to decide what to do, he’s frowning first at the news about Kavinsky, and then wincing, and then smiling in clear joy. “I’m - God, what the hell is Kavinsky playing at? I am glad that you told him about therapy though. How did he take that?” 

“He attempted to weasel his way into it to make it his business,” Ronan says, snorts, “like he does with everything. He keeps wanting to talk about this shit. Everyone keeps wanting to talk about this shit, Gans, that’s just not something I can do right now.” 

Gansey looks momentarily upset, but smooths his face out too quickly for Ronan to quite gauge the level of upset he actually is at.

“I get that,” he says, “it’s enough that you’re talking to Calla about it, don’t push yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts, crosses his arms. 

“Is Adam wanting to talk to you about it?” Gansey asks, pushing. Ronan rolls his eyes. 

“He’s brought it up a bit,” Ronan shrugs, “although he doesn’t know what ‘it’ is. It’s not exactly a very well hidden secret that I’m a mess though, so it’s not like it’s a shock.” 

“What did you tell him?” Gansey asks, and Ronan rolls his eyes again, the other way this time. 

“Do you remember like, 10 seconds ago? When I said I didn’t want to talk about this?” he bites out, and Gansey sighs, half smiles, leans sideways to nudge Ronan’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he says, “sorry. Just, one more?” 

“God,” Ronan huffs, “ok. What?” 

“Kavinsky is sending your nudes to your brother,” Gansey says quickly, “not just nudes, but some pretty pornographic and damaging images. Without your consent. That ought to be enough to begin an investigation to get him shut up, Ronan, before he can send these pictures to other people as well.” 

“God,” Ronan repeats, far more vicious this time round, “no. Gansey, we’ve talked about this. No.” 

“This is different,” Gansey insists, “this is even more serious than him just having the photos, think about what he could do with them now he’s shown that he’s willing to send them to people!” 

“No.” Ronan says firmly, “This isn’t a fucking new idea to me, Dick, you think I didn’t think he would send them to people? That’s why he fucking takes photos like that. He was always saying he was going to put that shit up online, so - who the fuck cares who sends it to now. The worst case is he sends it to Matthew, and then I have a long talk with Matthew about consent.” 

Gansey looks the next level up from horrified. “The internet?” he gapes, “God, Ronan - are you - what-?” He changes tack quickly as Ronan scowls and stares out his window, “what about Adam?” 

“What about Adam?” 

“What if he sends the photos to Adam?” Gansey clarifies, and Ronan snorts while his stomach sinks. 

“Then I tell Adam I’m not actually into that level of bondage and we never talk about it again,” Ronan says viciously, hears Gansey sigh, knows that Gansey knows that Ronan is not as blase about this as he’s attempting to pretend. 

“Come inside,” Gansey says, “I won’t bug you about this anymore. Just, think about it, ok?” 

“I already spend too much of my time thinking about it,” Ronan snaps, “I fucking dream about it all the time, I don’t want to purposefully think about it, thanks.” 

He can practically feel Gansey wince. 

“I mean,” he says, “think about the option of filing a report, a complaint or something. You don’t have to do this yourself, you know.” 

Ronan swears, a long strung out collection of words, then opens his door, “Ok,” he says, “I’ll think about it.” 

 

-

 

11:09  
#Boxing tomorrow????? :):):):):)

11:13  
-What time?

11:29  
#i usually go at………..6.30…………;););)

11:30  
-what the fuck matthew. 

11:33  
#and then i get waffles for brekfast afterwards!!!!!! Will you come????

11:35  
-Yeah. Whatever. Meet you there?

11:36  
#YES. SEE U AT 6.30 RONAN OMG  
#WILL YU COME TO WAFFLES WITH MEE AFTERWARDSSD?  
#PLLLEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSEEEEEEE

11:37  
-God.   
-Yeah. 

11:40  
#LOVE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOXXXXXXXXXXX

11:41  
-Love you too dumbass. 

 

-

 

11:54  
-I’ve just done a terrible thing. 

Monday  
12:03 (am)  
~Should I be worried?

12:04  
-For my sanity, yes.   
-I’ve agreed to get up at 6.30  
-GOD NO I’ve agreed to get up at like fucking 6 oh god

12:06  
~Can you hear that????  
~That’s me cackling all the way at the factory.   
~Why are you getting up at 6, babe?

12:07  
-Picking up boxing again.

12:11  
~And 6 am is the only time you can go??

12:11  
-And Matty is going at 6.30 so I’m going with him.   
-I might die, Parrish. 

12:13  
~Want me to write you a eulogy?

12:13  
-Yes. 

12:14  
~Ok well I’m pretty busy, but I’ll probably have time in a couple of months ;)  
~You should go to sleep, you have to be up in less than 6 hours. 

12:15  
-fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck  
-when do you get off work? 

12:16  
~Not for another hour. Go to sleep x

12:17  
-Will you text me when you get home anyway? 

12:18  
~Ok. Sleep. 

12:18  
-Bossy.   
-xxxx

12:18  
~xxx

 

-

 

2:01  
~home x good luck getting up in 4 hours x

2:04  
->:(

2:04  
~You’re meant to be asleep!!!

 

-

 

He does not sleep well. But at least he sleeps. This is most likely going to pan out to be a disaster. He had intended to go to sleep when he’d said goodnight to Adam, but then he’d realised he didn’t know where his fucking boxing gear was, so he’d torn his room apart looking for it, and then it turned out to be in his fucking wardrobe in it’s bag like it always was, and then he just couldn’t fucking sleep. He couldn’t fucking sleep because all he could think about was the photo Kavinsky had sent Declan that Declan had sent Ronan, that was sitting on his phone right now reminding him about that night in far too much detail.   
It wasn’t just another of the random fucked up photos Kavinsky had, and he apparently had a fuck load. Months of drugging Ronan up until he was really nothing more interesting than a fucking blow up doll with blood meant that he had had ample time for secret photoshoots, and he’d taken full advantage of that. This photo though, this photo he remembered (Or, he remembered the event in which it was taken - not the actual photo), which was unusual because while the other photos looked familiar, he could never place exactly when they were taken (which was nice because then it felt somewhat detached from him. Less painful that way), too drugged or intoxicated to have any memories of that night. 

This photo had been taken before he was blacked out though, the blacking out came later, not much later. 

 

-

 

It had been the afternoon of the day Declan had called him to say that despite the best efforts of their lawyers, of their mother’s doctors, they couldn’t find a way around their recently deceased father’s will. Without their mother being of sound mind, with the doctor’s having already done their best, the will was very firm on the fact that the family farm was to go without the Lynch boys until the 3 of them had turned 21. None of this will had ever made an ounce of sense to any of the brother’s, and so they had assumed, earlier on, that it would be reasonably easy to contest. To get back to their farm, to try and hold onto some aspect of their family even with one parent dead and the other gone like the light in a broken bulb.

Declan had called him around about noon, had told him in no uncertain terms that he blamed Ronan for this result from the lawyers. That if he had been able to act sensible, if he had paid attention to university, if he hadn’t made so many scenes, they would probably have gotten the farm back. Ronan had hung up on him around about noon. Then he had called Kavinsky, because that’s what he did then. 

He got upset, and he couldn’t find any way to staunch the flow of emotions other than plastering over them with drugs and different pain until the original problem was just so minuscule in comparison. He didn’t tell Gansey about the phone call because Gansey would be upset for him, would try to comfort him, would tell him it wasn’t his fault, and Ronan felt like if he had to listen to any of that, he would self combust. He didn’t tell Noah either, Noah would put on his worried face, would want to hold him, would tell him it wasn’t his fault, and Ronan felt like if he had to listen to any of that he would fucking sob blood. 

So he’d just left very quietly. Had climbed into the front seat of Kavinsky’s Mitsu quietly. Kavinsky hadn’t been quiet, Kavinsky had taken one look at him and laughed hysterically, driven them back to his, pushed Ronan out into the gravel driveway. His memories of this were a little blurry, not because of drugs or any shit like that yet, just because he was too upset to focus on what was happening, he was too invested on getting out of the moment to pay any attention to it. Which is why he’s not sure how he got from sprawled out on his ass in the driveway to having his face pressed into the gravel while Kavinsky fucked him, he assumes this has to be when Kavinsky took the photo. Doesn’t remember though. He does remember Kavinsky telling him not to cry. Doesn’t remember crying though. Does remember the shape of the small pink pills Kavinsky had pressed onto his tongue. Doesn’t remember if Kavinsky ever said what they were called. Does remember his eyes blurring over when Kavinsky transferred the next drugs from his mouth to Ronan’s. Doesn’t remember getting back into the car. Does remember seeing the bus. Does remember hoping it hits them. Does remember the sound Kavinsky made when it did hit them. Hilarity. 

 

-

 

Anyway. He’s fucking exhausted. He knows he looks it too. Does not appreciate the look of worry Matthew gives him when they meet up at the Gym.

“Ro,” he says, too loudly, “are you sick?” 

“God,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, and steps forward to knock shoulders with him, “no. I just didn’t sleep well. Let’s go in so you can fucking beat me up, yeah?” 

“Um,” Matthew says, “I think we should stick with the bags today, and not do any sparring, especially because you haven’t done any boxing in a while, yeah? And-” 

“Matty,” Ronan says fondly, cuffs Matthew over the head lightly, “I know. Let’s go.” 

 

-

 

There is a ridiculous amount of solace found in wrapping his hands. It’s motions that are ingrained in his mind, lets him just sink straight back into it. Less solace in remembering just how sweaty this gym smells. A little bit of solace in the familiar room.   
They warm up briskly next to each other, Matthew casually leading the moves, Ronan following, his own casual demeanor forced. He doesn’t remember a lot of the basics at first, or at least, his brain doesn’t. Once he’s watched Matthew for a few moments, his body remember, and he falls into a well worn groove in his mind. Counting punches in between inhales, following the movement of the bag, settling into the wide legged stance, exhaling, exhaling, exhaling. 

It’s good. It’s cathartic. It’s Matthew beside him, occasionally piping up with a set suggestion, or a comment on some random piece of whatever is going through his brain. 

“Remember the first time we sparred?” Matthew says when they take a quick break from the bags to face each other to go through a series of simple blocks, “And I hit myself in the nose so hard it bled?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts, lifts his arm to block Matthews light punch easily, “and dad wouldn’t believe you’d done it to yourself and I got grounded for a week.” 

“And I felt so bad about it I cried to mum and mum ungrounded you,” Matthew reminds him cheerfully, crouches down to avoid Ronan’s wide swing, “dad probably would’ve forgot he grounded you by the next day though.” 

“He forgot a lot of things,” Ronan agrees, catches Matthew’s arm midair and twists it sideways, drops it before it can become painful, “never forgot boxing practice though.” 

“No,” Matthew says, “I swear he forgot my birthday more often than boxing practice, y’know, I never really got it. Boxing.” 

“What?” Ronan asks, scoffs, “So why’re you still boxing?” 

“Well I mean,” Matthew says easily, sidesteps and traps Ronan’s arm, “I enjoy it well enough, but, never how dad did, I think. He really liked sparring, y’know? Like for him, the point of it was to get hit and then hit back harder. I just like the routine of it. It’s a bit like dancing.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, “yeah. What was his rule again? If you get hit and you cry you’re a loser, if you get hit and hit back hard enough to make the other guy cry, you’re a winner.” He snorts, “Pretty lame rule really.” 

“Yeah,” Matthew says, “‘specially when we were sparring with each other. One of us always had to be a loser.” 

Ronan shrugs, “All good,” he says, “I volunteer to be the loser.” 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Matthew snorts, “back to the punching bags?” 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, sidesteps around Matthew’s parting punch, returns to his bag, presses his forehead against it. It smells weird. He shouldn’t have come out this morning. Not on so little sleep. Not when he was already so fucking stupidly emotionally fragile. He pulls away from the bag, punches it half-heartedly, knees it, drops his forehead back against it. He wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t want to think about Niall. He doesn’t want to think about Niall. He doesn’t want to think about Niall teaching him to box, because it’s so many good memories wrapped up in so many bad memories, and he just needs boxing to be a good memory right now. You don’t cry at boxing practice. You don’t cry at boxing practice. You don’t cry at boxing practice. Matthew isn’t boxing anymore, he’s holding onto Ronan’s punching bag. 

“You ok?” he asks, “Do you need some water?” 

Ronan thinks, if he just keeps his face pressed against the bag, Matthew won’t see he’s crying, and everything will be alright.

“Yeah,” he says, “I forgot to have any before I came.” 

“I’ll grab your bottle,” Matthew says, “you should sit down,” he adds, jogs off towards the bench alongside the wall where his and Ronan’s bags were, and Ronan peels his face away from the sticky bag, rubs haphazardly at his face. This is stupid. He sits down on the floor. 

“Here,” Matthew says, crouching down in front of him, holding out the water bottle. He waits until Ronan’s taken it, had a few mouthfuls of water, before saying, “is it because we were talking about dad?” 

Ronan swallows his water slowly, puts the water bottle on the floor, rubs his face. “Kind of,” he admits. 

“Oh,” Matthew says, he sounds upset, “I’m sorry.” 

“Christ, Matty,” Ronan sighs, “it’s not your fault. It’s just - look, I didn’t sleep well at all last night, I think I’m just gonna cut today short, ok? I’m gonna head home.” 

“Oh,” Matthew says again, he sounds even more upset, “ok, Ro, um, I could come with? If you want? We could grab breakfast or something on the way?”

“Nah,” Ronan says, probably a little sharper than he should have. He scoops his water bottle back up and pushes himself up into standing, “Nah, bud, I’m fine. I just need to sleep. I don’t wanna ruin your session, ok? We’ll get breakfast next time.” 

“Ok,” Matthew says, stands back up too, “I won’t - I won’t talk about dad next time-” 

“Matty,” Ronan sighs, slings his arm around Matthew’s shoulders to squeeze him tightly, “it’s fine, ok?” 

“Ok,” Matthew says. He doesn’t look like he thinks it’s ok. “Text me later?” 

“Sure,” Ronan says, he’s ripping his gloves off, tucking them under his armpit so he can unwrap his hands, “send me a picture of your waffle stack,” he adds, already walking back over to their bags. 

 

-

 

He texts Adam once he’s back in his car, boxing bag chucked in the backseat. 

Monday  
7:03 (am)  
-Getting up at 6 was the worst idea. 

When he doesn’t get a reply within the next few moments, he pulls out of the parking lot, drives back home.

 

-

 

Adam still hasn’t replied when he gets home, but he could really do with some company that isn’t going to be as cheerful or sweet as Matthew, so he heads straight to Gansey’s room, doesn’t knock. 

Blue is in bed with Gansey. There is a decided lack of clothing all around. 

“When the fuck did you get here?” Ronan asks loudly, not really in the mood to see breasts. 

“When the fuck did you decide knocking was optional? Blue retorts, snatching at the bedsheets. She’d bolted awake when Ronan had pushed the door open, but Gansey had simply yawned and rolled over, and was now obnoxiously snoring. Obviously he hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep either.

“Seriously,” Ronan snaps, “how long have you been here?” 

“God I don’t know,” Blue says, she’s elbowing Gansey’s face in an attempt to wake him up, “I was here for dinner and then I fucking fell asleep. When did you get home?” She shoots back, then pauses in her elbowing to squint suspiciously at Ronan, “Or,” she says, elbows Gansey again (he blinks vaguely, but only lifts a hand to hook his fingers round the crook of her arm), “were you at mine with Adam all night?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan says, “I got home before 10, not all of us are as easy to get into bed as Gansey.” 

“Oh that’s right,” Blue grins, “you’re the baby gay virgin.” 

“Dick,” Ronan snaps, “your fucking girlfriend is being a shit.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey mumbles, still asleep, “your shit is being a girlfriend.” 

Blue cackles, Gansey jerks properly awake, Ronan scowls. 

“Oh,” Gansey says, squints first at Blue, then at Ronan, then in the direction of his nightstand where his glasses are. Blue hands them over. “What’s the time?” Gansey asks, pushing his glasses into place, “Is boxing already over?” 

Ronan scowls more, Blue raises her eyebrows at him. 

“No,” Ronan admits caustically, “I fucking left early. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Blue was here last night, Dick?” 

“What?” Gansey asks, frowning at Ronan, then at Blue, “Didn’t I?” 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “and so I just saw way too much of a woman than I ever fucking wanted to,” 

Oh fuck off,” Blue says, rolling her eyes and dropping herself heavily against Gansey’s shoulder, “I’ve seen your life drawing pieces, you’ve seen plenty more of women than what I was just showing.” 

“More than I ever wanted to in my own home,” Ronan defers, glares, and Gansey sighs theatrically. 

“Maybe you should try knocking first then” Gansey suggests, Blue makes a triumphant noise, “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you Blue was here, I suppose I got distracted by our conversation. Why did you leave boxing early?” 

“Because,” Ronan says crossly, folds his arms, “I wanted to. Don’t be fucking nosy.” 

 

-

 

Declan’s texted him again. He only checks because he thinks it might be Adam, and then he only reads it because the texts starts with, ‘Matthew says-’. 

7:34  
>Matthew says you went to boxing with him this morning. Maybe I should join that gym again too.

While Ronan’s still looking at the text, another buzzes in, slightly more infuriating than the last. 

7:35  
>He also says you left half an hour early and you seemed upset. Is this to do with that photo from Kavinsky? 

 

-

 

7:35  
-Stop fucking telling Declan everything, God. 

7:36  
#I’m sorry!!!! I just mentioned it. 

7:36  
-I don’t need him fucking trying to run my life for me. 

7:37  
# :(   
#I’m sorry :( 

 

-

 

He knows it’s unfair of him to be so pissed off at Matthew. He knows Matthew is probably just worried, and doesn’t see the harm in telling Declan because Declan actually likes Matthew. He knows he’s being an asshole. He makes coffee. 

 

-

 

11:02  
~Did you survive your early start? 

11:09  
-Barely. 

11:16  
~Was it fun, at least? 

11:19  
-Barely. 

11:25  
~Are you in a shitty mood? 

11:28  
-I guess. 

11:30  
~Do you want me to text you later, instead? 

11:32  
-No.   
-I mean. I do want you to text me now.  
-And later. 

11:35  
~What’re you up to, babe? X

11:36  
-Drawing. 

11:37  
~Drawing what? 

11:38  
-I’ll send it to you soon. It’s for you.   
-Are you at work?

11:40  
~I look forward to it x  
~Nah, just got off. On my way to class now. 

11:43  
-Are you working again after class? 

11:46  
~Yeah, did you wanna do something, babe? 

11:48  
-No. Just wondering. 

11:50  
~Ha ok.   
~I have so much study to do tonight, it’s ridiculous. 

11:51  
-See, the best thing about having no life and no future is that there isn’t any homework involved. 

11:52  
~I thought the best part would be getting to sleep in, tbh. 

11:52  
-Oh yeah, nah, you’re right.   
-(image attached)

11:54  
~I love this.   
~One day your art is going to be in fucing museums or something, and professionals will have to explain that the reason half your art is about a cat is because you take a joke way too far. 

11:55  
-I think I take jokes just the right way. 

11:56  
~Speaking of  
~I know you’re joking when you say you have no life or future, but like, you do KNOW that’s not true, right? 

11:57  
-Oh fuck off Parrish 

11:58  
~Lynch.   
~There’s no way you don’t have a future. You’re too talented not to. 

12:00 (pm)  
-Talent has nothing to do with future.   
-But I am joking, sure. 

12:01  
~I think yoi’re really ficking great, ok? 

12:02  
-Why the hell so many typos, Parrish? You drunk? 

12:04  
~Piss off.  
~it’s hrd to text one handed whie also carrying shit. 

12:05  
-And this, gentlemen and ungentlemen is why you don’t carry shit around. 

12:07  
~ -_-

12:09  
-:) 

12:13  
~I’ve gotta go, but I’ll text you later ok?   
~Don’t shortchange yourself.   
~xxx

 

-

 

2:02  
>Do you have to be an asshole to Matthew just because you’re in a shit mood? 

2:07  
-Do you have to be an asshole just because you were born an anus???? 

2:09  
>Seriously, Ronan. You know he fucking idolises you, God knows why, you being snappy to him makes him sad all fucking day. 

2:10  
-So he’s texting you to report my every movement, huh? How did you get him doing that? Bribe him with stories about mum and dad? 

2:12  
>Why are you such a shit?   
>No. I met up with him for lunch and he was just upset and wouldn’t fucking tell me why, which means that you did it.   
>Tell me I’m wrong. 

2:15  
-You’re a shithole. 

2:16  
>And you’re unimaginative.   
>Can you fucking make it up to Matthew.   
>And also will you PLEASE just fucking talk to me about what’s going on with Joseph Kavinsky.

2:18  
-I’ll make it up to Matthew. 

2:18  
>Ronan please. Kavinsky. I can get my lawyers on this if you’ll just fucking testify that something is happenign, or happened, or whatever. 

2:30  
>Ronan. 

 

-

 

2:58  
/Dd bg bro dicklan like our pics?  
/i hv mre 2 snd hm  
/ive gt sht 2 tll hm 2  
/u tll hm wht u sed 2 me tht day?

3:02  
-Stop. 

3:02  
/baaaaabe xxx  
/u wnna play nw?  
/mssd u

3:03  
-Leave me and my family alone, Kavinsky.   
-I told you we’re done.   
-If you keep trying to get at me I’ll report you to the police. 

3:03  
/LOL  
/OMFG  
/SURE  
/u thnk ure bng scry bb?????  
/u thnk i blve u?  
/u dum fckn slut. 

3:06  
-I have enough proof. My lawyers would have a field day.  
-Don’t try me, K. 

3:07  
/oh bb oh bb  
/ur so mch fn xxx  
/u thnk u hv sht on me?  
/u thnk i gv a fck?  
/i wll ruin u <3  
/im gnna fck u up so bd ur gnna wsh u dd fckn kll urslf bb

3:08  
-You don’t fucking scare me. 

3:09  
/bb  
/we bth no i do  
/xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

-

 

3:12  
-Hey. I’m really sorry for being a shit earlier. I know you weren’t trying to tattle on me or some shit. It wasn’t fair of me to be like that to you. 

3:13  
#no it’s ok!! I shouldn’t have told Declan :( :( :(

3:13  
-Nah seriously, matty, you can fucking tell Declan whatever you like. I’m not the fucking police. I overreacted like an asshole. 

3:14  
# :( 

3:15  
-I fuckin love you ok, dude? 

3:15  
# :) :) :)   
# I love u too 

 

-

 

3:42  
~How’re you doing, babe?

3:50  
-thinking about getting drunk and texting J.A again

3:52  
~That bad, huh?

3:54  
-Today has just been very frustrating. 

3:55  
~Care to share?

3:58  
-Nah it’s a long story

4:01  
~I feel like I’m supposed to say, ‘I have time’ here, but I really, really don’t.   
~If you ever do wanna tell me what’s up though. I will make time. 

4:03  
-Are you free tomorrow?  
-Not related. Just to spend time together. 

4:11  
~Um. I have a half hour slot of free time around about noon? So, not really until the evening when we're going to go see fury road?

4:12  
-oh my God I completely forgot.   
-what time are we doing that again? 

4:14  
~ha all good. Movie is at 6.30. wanna get dinner after? My shout 

4:16  
-yes  
\- I'd love that  
-sorry for being useless

4:18  
~you're not. Honestly.   
~i was gonna say, I'll pick you up at 6, but uh. I still don't have a car. 

4:19  
-so, I'll pick you up at 6 ;) 

4:22  
~please x  
~what are you doing this evening? 

4:22  
-God. Uh. Nothing.   
-Look, I need you to know that that’s gonna be my answer to that question at least 89% of the time. 

4:26  
~I appreciate how exact you are with that percentage.   
~And look, I need you to know, that I don’t mind if you’re not doing anything. Ok? I’m not actually some huge judgy monster. Just a little judgy monster. 

4:27  
-I supose that makes Blue that tiniest judgiest monster. 

4:29  
~I suoppose so ;)   
~How are you doing today? You seem on edge. 

4:33  
-I’m always on edge. 

4:35  
~Oh watch out we have an edgelord!  
~Sorry I think I’ve sent too much time with Noah recently. He’s affecting my vocab. 

4:37  
-I’m just having a bad day. No big deal. 

4:39  
~Like, a bad things happening day, or just a bad day?

4:42  
-both.   
-You remember that time i was really shitty to you when i picked you up from the bookstore?

4:45  
~Yeah. Has that guy been fucking around again? 

4:46  
-You could say that. 

4:46  
~He threatened you again?

4:47  
-Kinda. 

4:47  
~Are you still refusing to go to the police? 

4:48  
-Kinda. 

4:48  
~Ro. Are you in danger?

4:49  
-I don’t know. 

4:49  
~Does Gansey know?

4:52  
-Kinda. 

4:52  
~Ro I swear to God if you keep answering kinda I’m going to come over right now and sit on you until you tell me what the fuck is happening. 

4:54  
-So….like….I don’t want to make you angry? But I do want you to come over and sit on me. But I also don’t want to talk?

4:54  
~I’m not angry, I’m scared.  
~And I can come over if you want me to.  
~But I can’t come over if you won’t tell me straight what’s happening. 

4:55  
-I’m always straight. 

4:55  
~That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told. 

4:58  
-I don’t want you to miss work on my account. 

4:59  
~There’s no one else I would miss work for. So if you want me to, I will. 

5:02  
-Why? 

5:02  
~Because I care about you.   
~I have a break in a minute, I can say I have to leave then. Do you want me to come over? 

5:04  
-Yes. 

5:04  
~So I’ll come over. Have you eaten? 

5:07  
-No. 

5:07  
~Want me to grab a pizza on the way? 

5:09  
-I’m not hungry. 

5:09  
~Ok well I am so I’m bringing a pizza. You good with a cheese and garlic one? 

5:10  
-Yeah. 

5:14  
~Is Gansey home? 

5:16  
-No.   
-He’s at a rowing party.

5:18  
~Oh yeah I momentarily forgot he was a rich white man stereotype. 

5:21  
-He does as well. Blue and I make sure to remind him. 

5:22  
~:)  
~I’m on the bus now btw. I’ll be there in about 20 once I’ve got the pizza

5:24  
-I’m gonna shower. Don’t freak out when I don’t text back. 

5:25  
~I wouldn’t freak out. 

5:38  
~Just picking up the pizza now. Be there in 5 x

 

-

 

Ronan very much regrets not showering after coming back from boxing that morning. It wasn’t as if he’d been too busy. He’d just spent the entire day lying on his bed with his earphones on. The only breaks he took from this extremely important task, was to shift to the edge of the bed to draw Adam a picture, and to roll onto his stomach when Gansey came in to ask if he wanted lunch. Now, he was smelly, kind of musty, and very much looked like he’d spent all day in bed.

Showering helps a little. It wakes him up more, loosens his muscles a little. He turns the heat up just a little more than he can stand it, then grits his teeth as his skin reddens. He knows he’s being stupid. He’s washed away the grime, but he still feels dirty. Dirty because of the photos he’s carrying around on his phone, of the words. Dirty because he knows what he’s going to tell Adam when he gets here and then Adam will see how dirty he is even though he’s freshly washed. Scrubbing his skin raw won’t actually help, but it feels like it might. 

By the time he’s out, Adam’s only 5 minutes away, and he still feels dirty. He dresses quickly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. At least they’re not dirty. His room is even more of a mess than it usually is due to his boxing gear rampage the previous night. There’s no point in trying to straighten it up before Adam gets here, and there’s also no point in closing the door on the mess, so Ronan does neither. 

Instead, he opens the front door because he can see Adam walking up to the building, and then, he stands like an idiot in the open door waiting for Adam to actually fucking arrive. It’s a good thing Gansey isn’t here, because if he was, he would never let Ronan live this down. It’s a bad thing Gansey isn’t here, because if he was, Ronan wouldn’t have been the reason Adam left work early. He ought to have just texted Gansey. But it wasn’t like anything was wrong, not really. He was fine. Really. 

 

-

 

“Oh,” Adam says, finally coming up the stairs, “hi babe.” 

“Hi,” Ronan says. Like an idiot. “Um.” 

“I’ve got pizza,” Adam says, unnecessarily seeing as the pizza box was right in his fucking arms. He walks right up to Ronan, leans in, kisses him on the cheek, and pulls back to smile. “Wanna go inside?” 

“This is my house, I think that’s my line,” Ronan grumbles, lets Adam lead the both of them into the lounge anyway, shuts the door behind them and turns around as Adam settles down on the couch. He’s dropped his bags on the floor, has the pizza on his lap, and an exhausted expression on his face. 

“Pizza?” Adam asks, and Ronan shrugs drops down next to him. He is kind of hungry. Still doesn’t really want to eat though. 

“Are you gonna be ok?” Ronan asks, watching Adam’s hands as he opens the pizza box, “Cutting your shift so short?” 

“Yeah,” Adam says easily, “I said it was a family emergency, they’re fine with it.” 

“I mean money wise,” Ronan says, “paying for your mum’s treatment, and your car, is it ok missing so many hours?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Adam says firmly, “have some pizza.” 

Ronan doesn’t really want to. Takes a slice anyway. 

“I’d probably have caused an accident if I stayed anyway,” Adam says, takes a slice of pizza as well, “I’d be too busy freaking out about you to pay attention to what I was doing.” 

“I’m fine,” Ronan insists. Adam rolls his eyes, can’t say anything immediately because his mouth is full of pizza, so Ronan continues. “I told you he’s only kind of threatening me, it’s - it’s nothing I can’t handle. Nothing awful would have happened tonight.” 

“The way you say ‘tonight’ makes me feel like you think something awful is imminent,” Adam says darkly, “and it wasn’t that I was worried you were going to get murdered or some shit, I was more worried because you seemed upset.” 

“If you leave work everytime I seem upset you’re just going to have to give up working entirely,” Ronan says. Adam takes another bite, chews slowly while eying Ronan up carefully. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” he says eventually, “you don’t have to tell me everything. Just - I want to be able to help.” 

“Hey,” Ronan says. He still hasn’t had any of his pizza, and it’s beginning to droop in his hand. He’s definitely going to get cheese on the couch. “The police never did get the guy who crashed into you car, did they?” 

“No,” Adam says, frowns hard, “the trail went cold, apparently. Why are you changing the subject?” 

“I’m not,” Ronan sighs, “well, I kind of am, but,” he shrugs. Adam narrows his eyes at him, and Ronan continues. “They know perfectly well who he is, it’s just that he paid them off, and seeing as a scarily large number of cops are kinda corrupt? The cops let him, and then just kept the money, obviously.” 

“And you know this, how?” Adam asks, shoves the rest of his slice into his mouth. 

“Because,” Ronan says, “I’ve seen it happen before, because he told me, because it’s the same guy who’s… who I have history with.” 

Adam swallows. He doesn’t look nearly phased enough. “Ok,” he says slowly, “want to expand on that for me?” 

Not really. “His name’s Kavinsky,” Ronan says mulishly, “he’s a… God, well, he’s a drug dealer, a street racer, and a fucking asshole, and, uh - I spent a lot of time with him for a couple of years.” 

Adam nods. He looks like he’s expecting more. 

“The car crash I was in?” Ronan continues, “That fucking Tad mentioned? That was Kavinsky driving. After the crash I - I started cutting myself off from him - there was some - some shit happened - and then I didn’t see him for almost a year until recently.” 

“How long ago was recently?” Adam asks. 

“The night I texted you about Jane,” Ronan says tonelessly, “I was so far away from home because I jumped out of his fucking car. That was the first time I’d seen him again, but I - I saw him the day he hit your car too. And that time in the supermarket - and - and last week he turned up at my house - but -” he cuts himself off, shrugs, feels dirty. 

Adam is just looking at him. 

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Ronan continues, “Tad had the wrong idea. We were - we were - using each other, but I never liked him. Not really - but we - he has - Adam, will you say something?” 

“Did he tell you he crashed into me?” Adam asks. 

“No,” Ronan says, he feels wretched. Dirty. Can’t stop thinking about how he’s talking to Adam about this as if Kavinsky hadn’t had his hand down Ronan’s pants. “I saw his car was fucked up and asked about it. I realised it had to have been your car he hit. So I called the police and left an anonymous tip.” 

“Oh,” Adam says, “that was you?” 

Ronan nods. Adam chews. This isn’t going how Ronan had expected. He didn’t really know what he had expected, but not this. Not really. 

“And Kavinsky found out it was you?” Adam asks, takes another bite of pizza, speaks through the mouthful, “And threatened you?” 

“Mm,” Ronan says. He hadn’t been intending on telling Adam that particular bit. 

“What’s he threatening you with?” Adam asks. 

“You know how I keep telling you I’m pretty - uh - fucked up?” Ronan asks, lifting his hips off of the couch so he can drag his phone out of his back pocket. 

“Yes,” Adam says, eying Ronan’s phone up. “Are you about to attempt to prove that to me?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “I’m explaining some of it,” he shrugs, “it might also prove my point, but that’s not what I’m trying to do.” 

He puts his piece of pizza down on the top of the couch, Gansey can complain about his nasty habits later, and unlocks his phone, opens Kavinsky’s texts. 

“I also want-” Ronan begins, clears his throat, “-I also want to tell you all this shit now. Or, most of this shit now, because it’s - if you decide after tonight that this is too much or some shit, you won’t have wasted too much of your time on this. You’re too busy to-” 

“Ronan,” Adam says sharply, he’s put the pizza box on the ground, has swiveled around on the couch so he’s facing Ronan, “unless you’re about to show my photos of you… I don’t know, murdering kittens or some shit, I’m not fucking dumping you.” 

Ronan scoffs, “Right,” he says, “this is,” he shrugs again, “this is what Kavinsky is threatening me with. Although currently I’m unsure whether he’s threatening me with the act, or with leaking the photos.” 

Now Adam looks wary. He holds his hand out for the phone though, so Ronan hands it over, hates himself for handing it over. This was such a cop out. He couldn’t fucking sit down and just talk over his problems with Adam like a normal person, couldn’t keep his fucking emotions under check like a normal person, couldn’t be a normal person. No normal person hands over this kind of shit for their boyfriend to look at. 

Adam stares at what’s on the screen in front of him, and then scrolls up a little, makes a face which Ronan would prefer not to be seeing, scrolls up a little bit more, then turns the screen off and passes the phone back. Ronan doesn’t take it, so Adam puts it down on the couch between them. 

“Ronan,” Adam says. 

“I want to start off by saying that none of that is recent,” Ronan says loudly, “and that I didn’t even know about these photos until he started sending them."

“I know they’re not recent,” Adam says firmly, “you look different. More importantly, you don’t look like you’re even conscious in some of these photos. You say he’s threatening to leak these? Or to re-enact them?” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan admits, shrugs yet again, “I just - God, I don’t know why I’m showing you these - I just - y’know, if Kavinsky does do… something, I wanted you to know about it before it becomes public domain or some shit.” 

“I see,” Adam says, then, “I still don’t understand why you haven’t gone to the police with this. From what I’ve seen, you’ve definitely got enough evidence to at least open an investigation. If you got a good lawyer, there’s no way you could lose.” 

Ronan shakes his head, “No,” he says, thinks about just not explaining anything. “Kavinsky’s in with most of the police around here. I know he supplies a good portion of them with drugs, as well as drug busts. I can’t - if I took this to the police and they saw all of this… this shit, and just told me that there was nothing they could do - I can’t.” Well. That wasn’t a very good explanation. 

Adam nods. 

“I see,” he says again, “I understand, babe, I do,” he says, his voice is still firm, but it’s low, soft. He reaches out slowly, rests his hand on Ronan’s knee. “I still think it might be worth it. This isn’t ok, this is the opposite of ok.”

Ronan nods. Swallows. Drops his chin down to his chest, exhales, exhales, exhales. “I don’t want,” he says, “to fuck up my parent’s legacy even more than I already have.” 

He can feel Adam staring at him. 

“Dad was always so proud of his family,” Ronan mumbles, “he always said we’d all make something big of our lives. Do things that would make the world proud to be on the same planet as us. I don’t want my big thing to be losing a fucking abuse case against a Bulgarian mobster asshole.” 

“That wouldn’t be your big thing,” Adam says, “your big thing would be getting out of that situation. Or winning the case. Or being a fucking amazing artist. Or a million other things.”

“I dropped out of art school,” Ronan points out.

“So fucking what?” Adam retorts, he’s shuffling closer on the couch now, lifts his hand from Ronan’s knee to cup his face, “Babe,” he says, “listen to me. You are not just a sum of all your bad experiences and mistakes, that’s not who you are. That’s not what you’ll be remembered for.” 

“You always remember the bad more than the good,” Ronan mumbles, and Adam scoffs. 

“Nah,” he says, “the bad gets blocked out by the good. The bad might have shaped you into who you are today, but it didn’t do that by itself. You’re as loving, as caring, as clever as you are because of the good, not the bad.” 

Ronan snorts, Adam squeezes his cheek. 

“Thanks for… for trusting me with this,” Adam says, “I know this wasn’t easy, or fun, or whatever, but I’m glad you told me.” 

“It doesn’t bother you then?” Ronan asks carefully, closes his eyes as Adam rubs his thumb along the top of his cheekbone. 

“Of course it bothers me,” Adam says roughly, “it bothers me that you’ve been so fucked around, that you’ve been hurt so fucking much, that you’re still hurting. That bothers me. That’s the only way it bothers me, Ronan, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.” 

Ronan is thinking that he is an idiot. A fool. A slut. A dirty fucker. An addict. That Adam should leave him now. 

“I’m not leaving because you’ve had shit happen to you,” Adam says, “why would I? It’s not like you left when you found out my father used to beat me. Or that I’m deaf in one ear. Or that my parents can still so easily manipulate me. Or that I’m so fucking poor I’m working 4 jobs. Maybe you’re a bit fucked up, but so am I.” 

“That’s different,” Ronan objects, voice just as rough as Adam’s, emotions clogging his throat, “you’ve fucking - you’ve fucking gotten yourself out of that. You work hard, and you’re - and I just sit here and let shit happen to me.” 

“Don’t,” Adam says, “be stupid. I sat there and let shit happen to me for a long time because I thought I didn’t have a choice. That wasn’t my fault. I was made to feel that way. I’m not great at reminding myself about that, but I know it’s true. I’m not fucking saying that you have to just grind your teeth and solve this yourself, I’m saying that I’m here to help, and so is Gans, and Blue, and Noah.” 

“I’m not good at that,” Ronan says, “letting people help.” 

“Well,” Adam says, “practice makes perfect?” 

“Why are you like this?” Ronan asks, he knows he sounds despairing, can’t rein his voice in. 

“Like what?” Adam asks, he’s pressing his thumb in gently under Ronan’s eye, wiping at tears. 

“So calm,” Ronan sniffs, “so ok with all of this. You’re just - fucking collected as shit.” 

“I’m not,” Adam says, lifts his other hand so he can cup the other side of Ronan’s face, to wipe at the tears there too, “I’m currently internally screaming, but I don’t usually find it helpful to actually scream. I’ll cry in a minute, don’t worry.” 

“I’m not -” Ronan says heatedly, “I don’t want you to cry.”

Adam shrugs, leans in to press his forehead against Ronan’s. He smells like garlic and gasoline. A not altogether unpleasing scent. “I don’t you to cry either,” he says, “but it’s happening anyway.” 

“Sure,” Ronan mumbles, “but I’m not crying because of you, “so-” 

“Stop,” Adam says, “don’t sit here trying to convince me that I shouldn’t be upset. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t deserve to be sitting here.” 

Ronan isn’t sure what to say to this, so he just shifts until he can drop his head against Adam’s shoulder instead, until Adam wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him, all ungainly limbs and far too big, into his lap. 

“Ok,” Adam says, voice hushed against Ronan’s ear, “so I think, that you should have something to eat, and then maybe an early night.”

“Ok,” Ronan says back, muffled up against Adam’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of him - sweat and gas and books - “will you stay?” 

“Yes,” Adam says, no hesitation, “I need to do some studying, but I can do that here. Is that ok?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, presses his face harder against Adam, “study in my room with me.” 

“Eat first,” Adam insists, peels himself a little away from Ronan to peer down at him, “when did you last eat?” 

“Breakfast,” Ronan grunts, closes the gap between them again, “coffee.” 

Adam makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and scoff, presses a hard kiss to the crown of Ronan’s head. “You need to actually eat food,” he says, “especially if you’re getting up early to go boxing.” 

“I left boxing early,” Ronan mumbles. 

“Because you only had coffee for breakfast and fainted?”

“No,” Ronan says, “because I started crying on the punching bag and that’s frowned upon in most gyms. Aren’t you proud? You’re dating a fucking child.” 

“When we first met,” Adam says, “you said you were 222. I have nothing against dating old men who cry. Or any man who cries. You’re allowed to cry, Ronan.” 

“Oh sure,” Ronan says, scoffs, “I’m allowed to. But most people don’t cry as much as I do.” 

“Stop,” Adam says again, insistent. This time when he peels away from Ronan he presses the heels of his hands against Ronan’s shoulders, holds him out at arm length. “God, Ro,” he says, “listen. Of course I fucking hate seeing you crying. Because that means you’re upset, and I don’t want you upset, because I fucking care about you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t cry, or that you shouldn't be upset. You have every right to be upset, to fucking cry as much as you need. I’m not judging, Im not uncomfortable with it, I’m not going to leave because you reach my cry quota or some shit. Got it?” 

Ronan blinks at him for a few moments, then attempts to shrug, “You are uncomfortable with it,” he says. Adam sighs. 

“I’m a little uncomfortable with it,” he agrees weakly, “I haven’t been in a situation like this before. It’s scary. When I say I’m not uncomfortable with it,” he continues, voice lifting a little, firming up, “I mean that you don’t make me feel uncomfortable. I mean that I can handle it. You’re not overwhelming me.” 

Ronan stares a little longer. Then nods. 

“Pizza?” Adam asks, “Or do you want something with green on it?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “pizza.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ronan eats half the pizza. Then he feels a little better. Also a little nauseous. It had probably been a bad idea not to eat anything all day, but honestly, in the context of his other bad ideas, this was nothing. 

 

He spends about 4 minutes while Adam goes to the bathroom, trying to decide if he had just been overreacting and over emotional because he was hungry, or if he was, in fact, entitled to feel as shitty as he currently did. His phone buzzes with texts from Kavinsky while he’s still trying to decipher this, which completely makes up his mind for him. 

  
  


-

  
  


6:53

/Whch pic shd i snd dcln?

/(image attached) ths?

/(image attached) or ths?

/whch 1 u thnk wll gt u mre n trbl? X

  
  


-

  
  


Adam comes back into the room just as he chucks his phone at the armchair on the opposite wall, as he decides that, no, he hadn't just been fucking hangry or whatever.

 

“What was that?” Adam asks, he’d jumped when the phone had rebounded of of the chair and clattered onto the floor, but appeared reasonably calm as he sat down on the edge of the couch next to Ronan. “Were you getting more texts?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, there’s probably no point in lying about it right now. “Just more of the same.” 

 

Adam stares at the phone on the ground for a long while, then looks up at Ronan. “Do you wanna keep talking about this?” he asks, “Or do you need a break?” 

 

“I need a break,” Ronan replies, “I hate...talking.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, leans back against the cushions of the couch, “do you want me to stay?” 

 

Ronan narrows his eyes. He doesn’t think this is Adam hinting that he wants to leave, he thinks this is Adam genuinely asking, wanting a truthful answer. He thinks that Adam at least deserves a truthful answer after all of this. 

 

“Yes,” he says, “stay.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, “I might do some study, if that’s ok?” 

 

“Go ahead, nerd,” Ronan replies, “do you want a tea or some shit?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, glances first at his wrist watch, then at his over full book bag by the end of the couch, and then shrugs, “yeah,” he says, “could I actually have some coffee?” 

 

“How late are you planning on staying awake?” Ronan scoffs, and Adam rolls his eyes at him. 

 

“As long as it takes me to finish 5 chapters and take notes,” he replies plainly, grabs Ronan’s hand before he can stand up to go to the kitchen, “in a minute though,” he says. 

 

“In a minute?” Ronan repeats, settles back on the couch, shifts his hand in Adam’s grip so he can hold him back, “You want to ask questions? I guess that’s fair.” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “well, God, I probably do have questions but not right now. Can we just...cuddle for a bit? I just wanna hold you.” 

 

Ronan stares at him. This feels a lot like Adam has discovered how to read Ronan’s mind, and knows that that’s the only thing he wants right now, to be held. For Adam to ask it so Ronan doesn’t feel like he’s taking too much. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, “what a dumb fucking question. Of course we can fucking cuddle, seriously, Parrish?” 

 

“Shut up,” Adam says, shoves at Ronan’s shoulder, and then tugs at it, pulling Ronan closer to him as he leans sideways.

 

It’s a little awkward for a few moments, while Adam shuffles under Ronan’s weight to get into a comfortable position which isn’t going to break his back, while Ronan unfolds his legs and then refolds them in a different way. But then it’s fucking perfect. Adam stretched out along the couch, Ronan pressed along his chest, his face pressed against the side of Adam’s neck, Adam’s hands smoothing down Ronan’s back, rubbing against the stubble on his head. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just strokes down Ronan’s non-existent hair, rubs his tense back, cups his nape, and breathes slow and even. Ronan can feel Adam’s heartbeat pressed in against his, his breath pushing at Ronan’s own lungs, the pulse in his neck steady against Ronan’s lips. 

 

Most importantly. Ronan feels understood. Feels like he’s stripped down bare in front of Adam and Adam had seen the ugly knotting of his scars and still saw him as worthy of love. Feels like he doesn’t have to explain everything to Adam for Adam to know him. He feels known. He wants to stay here forever, or at least, until he next has to pee. 

Eventually though, 5 minutes, or maybe half an hour later, hard to tell with nothing but the movement of Adam’s breath and blood to pass the time, Adam speaks. 

 

“Hey,” he says, quiet, “I’m going to fall asleep in a second if I don’t get up.” 

 

“So sleep,” Ronan says, selfish in his desire to stay exactly where he is, “I’ll be your blanket.” 

 

“I have to study,” Adam says, “sorry, babe.” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan groans, but un-peels his face from Adam’s neck anyway, begins shifting slightly, “I’m very offended,” he says, “that you don’t want to be my bed forever.” 

 

“I’ll be your bed forever once I’ve got my degree,” Adam yawns, helping Ronan sit back up with his hands pressed against Ronan’s shoulders, “but you can lie on me while I study if you like, so long as I can move my arms.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, climbs off of Adam. “Ok,” he says, “I’m going to go make your coffee. Do you wanna study in my room? There’s a lamp by the bed.” 

 

He doesn’t actually want to say, ‘study in my room so I can fall asleep clutching onto you like a large and overly traumatised limpet.’

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “thanks babe.” 

 

“Eh,” Ronan replies, pushes himself away from the couch, towards the kitchen, “how do you want your coffee?” 

 

“Black,” Adam replies, “no sugar.” 

 

“Gross,” Ronan calls back, already in the kitchen, “you heathen.” 

 

“Takes one to know one,” Adam replies loudly. 

  
  


-

  
  


In the kitchen, alone except for the monstrous gumble and grit of the coffee grinder, Ronan has ample time to consider a few things. Firstly, and most pressingly, how disgustingly exhausted he was. The most annoying thing about being too tired and too sad to fucking do anything more than lie around all day somehow ended up meaning that you just continued being exhausted and sad, and he was so bored of this constant fatigue eating up at him from his inside out. Secondly, (in a quick continuation of firstly) he thinks he might actually fall asleep on Adam as soon as he lies back down. Partly because he’s exhausted, but mostly because, despite all his hard muscles and jutting bones, Adam as so fucking comfortable to lie on. This is a possibly bad thing, because, Ronan always has bad dreams, but recently, they’ve been more nightmares than bad dreams, and he doesn’t really want Adam to have to bear witness to one. He thinks the chance of his bad dream being a nightmare tonight is at an all time high. Thirdly, he considers the idea that Adam is truly in this for the long haul, despite everything. That Adam says shit that makes it sound like he’s gonna hang around. 

  
  


When he gets to his bedroom, glass of water in one hand, mug of coffee in the other, Adam is propped up against the headboard on his bed, a book that looks thick enough to bludgeon someone with it in his lap, a pen in his hand, a highlighter between his teeth, and a notebook propped open by his side. He’s sitting in semi-darkness, reading by the light of the bedside lamp. Ronan puts the coffee and water down on the bedside table next to him without a word, then steps away from the bed and pulls his shirt off over his head. 

 

“You getting ready for bed?” Adam asks, voice mild, but muffled through the highlighter.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, chucks the shirt in the vague direction of one of his piles of shit.

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “thanks for the coffee.” 

 

“”Brought you water too,” Ronan mumbles, stepping out of his pants and kicking them after his shirt, “to lessen the coffee breath.” 

 

“How thoughtful,” Adam says, “you’re a gem.” Sarcasm.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Ronan replies, steps back over to the bed, then clambers over Adam’s legs and sprawls out along his side. Adam drops the highlighter from his mouth onto his book.

 

“You gonna sleep?” Adam asks, he’s not looking at Ronan, he’s staring down at his book, underlining something, his brow furrowed. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “maybe.” 

 

“Can you with the light on?” Adam asks, glances down at Ronan. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I usually leave it on anyway.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “ok. Cool.” He doesn’t say anything else, just lifts his arm a little, an invitation to Ronan, and Ronan shuffles over so he can rest his head against Adam’s hip, so Adam can drape his arm back down and over Ronan’s shoulders. It’s a little clunky, what with the cast and all, but it’s comforting, and it’s Adam.

 

Ronan closes his eyes, inhales slowly, holds the air in his lungs, exhales. He wants to wrap his arm around Adam’s waist, wants to hold onto him tightly. So he does, snakes his arm up between Adam’s stomach and books, hooks his hand around the jut of his hip. Adam doesn’t react for a moment, Ronan can feel him scribbling down some notes or something, but then he puts his pen down in the spine of his book, and reaches down to rub his thumb gently across the back of Ronan’s knuckles. It feels like an absent minded movement, and Ronan is almost scared to breathe lest he make Adam aware of it, and somehow cause him to stop. 

 

He does stop in a few moments though, to pick up his highlighter this time, to highlight what looks like a whole paragraph, then to pick up his pen, scribble something wordy down in his notebook. Then he returns to the stroking. 

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan has no idea what time he fell asleep, which also means he has extra no idea what time it is when he wakes up to hushed voices. He’s still pressed in against Adam’s hip, his whole body curled up as much as it can around Adam’s legs, his hand round Adam’s waist, Adam’s arm still over his shoulders. Adam’s books are closed, and his voice is low and hoarse. 

 

“-going to stay,” Adam is saying. 

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gansey replies, it sounds like he’s near the foot of the bed, “he’s had enough loss to last him a lifetime already.” 

 

“I-” Adam begins, then glances down at Ronan, “you’re awake?” he asks, not really a question. Ronan nods, throat too dry for talking. He pushes himself up on his elbow to glare blearily at Gansey, who is at the foot of the bed, and then reaches wordlessly to the bedside table for the glass of water which he hopes still contains some liquid. Adam passes it to him, then takes the empty glass back again once Ronan’s downed it. 

 

“The fuck are you talking about?” Ronan grumbles at Gansey, who shrugs expansively, and plops himself down near Ronan’s feet. 

 

“I was worried you had had a fight with Adam,” Gansey begins, not an answer to Ronan’s question, “so I came in here to see if you wanted to talk about it, and found Adam instead. Well, the both of you, but Adam was the awake one.” 

 

“Why would I have fought with Adam?” Ronan asks, offended. 

 

“Your phone was left abandoned in the lounge,” Gansey says, “you haven’t been doing that since Adam came on the scene.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, drops himself back down against Adam, “and stop being weird about me to Adam.” 

 

“Ro,” Adam says, soft, reaches down to cup his face, to run his thumb over the ridge of his forehead. 

 

“I wasn’t being weird,” Gansey says pompously, “I just figured that seeing as Declan isn’t around to do the big brother chat thing with your significant other, I ought to.” 

 

“You already did that via a 3 am text,” Ronan snaps, “and anyway, you’re running a little late.” 

 

“In more ways than one,” Gansey says, “I got home a lot later than I intended, I’m sorry, Ronan.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan reiterates, presses himself in harder against Adam, “you don’t need to apologise for having a life.” 

 

“I’m not,” Gansey says, reaches out and squeezes Ronan’s foot, “I’m apologising because I told you earlier that I’d be home before 10, and it’s past midnight.”

 

“I’m not your mother,” Ronan mumbles, doesn’t pull his foot away from Gansey’s grip, “it’s fine.”

 

“I’m glad to see that,” Gansey says, he’s starting to sound very earnest. Too earnest for apparently past midnight. “It’s good to see that you feel like you can call Adam when you need someone around.” 

 

“Gansey,” Ronan says, “fuck off.” 

 

Gansey squeezes his foot again, then releases it and stands up, “I should go to bed,” he says, “and so should you, Adam.” 

 

“I have another chapter to go,” Adam starts, then interrupts himself with a shrug, “yeah I think I’ll sleep now too. Goodnight Gansey.” 

 

“Goodnight Adam,” Gansey says, “goodnight Ronan.” He closes the bedroom door behind him, because he at least has a few manners. 

 

“Um,” Adam says once Gansey’s footsteps have receded, “is it alright if I stay the night?” 

 

“Christ on a motherfucking push bike,” Ronan says, yawns, “obviously.”

 

“Just checking,” Adam says, as if Ronan would have said anything other than yes. 

 

He sits up a little more upright, jostling Ronan as he does, so he can put his books and shit on the ground. He yanks off his shirt next, drops it on top of his books, and then, awkwardly as he’s still sitting down, shuffles until he can work his jeans off as well, before settling back down on the bed and tugging the sheets over the both of them. Ronan presses back in against his side, Adam slings his arm over his hip, pulls them closer. 

 

“You good?” Adam asks, voice low, and Ronan bites back a very un-witty comment about how he’s actually very bad according to most people. 

 

“Yeah,” he says instead, then, “does this mean we’re canceling our date tomorrow?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, tips his head down, chin to chest, so he can squint at Ronan, “Why would we do that?” 

 

“To make up whatever time I lost you today?” Ronan suggests, and Adam scoffs loudly. 

 

“Fuck off,” he says plainly, “I didn’t lose any time today, and anyway, the tickets are already booked and-” he hesitates a moment and then, “you still want to go, right?” 

 

Ronan scoffs as well, Adam cuffs him lightly round the head. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “God.” 

 

“Fine,” Adam says, snide and amused all at once, “go to sleep then.” 

 

“Fine,” Ronan retorts, presses his face back against Adam’s shoulder, “don’t snore.” 

 

“Don’t you snore,” Adam replies, presses a light kiss to Ronan’s temple, “G’night.” 

  
  


-

 

Adam gets up early the next morning, earlier than Ronan ever likes his eyes to be open, so he doesn’t open them to glare at Adam attempting to wriggle his way out of Ronan’s arms. 

 

“Ro,” Adam whispers, “I need to get to work.” 

 

“It’s fuck o clock,” Ronan whispers back, voice harsh with disuse, “why do all your jobs start and end at fuck o clock?” 

 

“Because no one else wants to do them,” Adam replies, peels Ronan’s arm off of him and ducks out of the bed, “and they work around my schedule. You keep sleeping babe.” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, very grumpy with himself for saying this. He levers himself into a vaguely upright position, eyes still closed, “I’m gonna drive you t’work.” 

 

“Aw c’mon,” Adam says, almost cheerfully, “you’re still asleep. I can catch the bus.” 

 

“Not all of us can be fucking morning people,” Ronan says, forcing his eyes open so he can properly glare at Adam who’s hopping around on one foot tugging his jeans back on, “I still wanna drive you to work though. Get back in the bed, you have an extra 10 or so fucking minutes now I’m driving you.” 

 

“Oh I see,” Adam says, not getting back into the bed, “you’re driving me for your own sake. Fine,” he agrees, does his jeans up, “but I’m spending my extra ten minutes getting breakfast or something and washing my face, because I am really not a morning person and if I get back into bed I’m not waking up again.” 

 

Ronan groans, watches as Adam leaves the room, then rolls out of the bed. He lands, knees first with a thud on the ground, then scrounges around his clothes pile until he finds the Gansey jumper, and pulls it on as he stumbles into the kitchen. 

 

“There’s gross muesli next to the microwave,” he yawns, “coco pops too. You could have eggs and toast if you like.” 

 

“Coffee and coco pops,” Adam says with a grin, he’s already setting the coffee up, “want some?” 

 

“Coffee,” Ronan grunts, pads his way across the room to collapse against Adam’s back, “and kissing.” 

 

“I have atrocious morning breath,” Adam warns, not turning around, but reaching round their bodies one handed to pat Ronan’s hip. 

 

“I don’t care,” Ronan says (whines), “so do I.” 

 

“Hmm,” Adam says, turns the coffee machine on and finally turns round against Ronan. He’s leaning against the counter, so Ronan leans heavily against him, inclines his head for easier kissing. Adam kisses him, gently and chastely (his morning breath is atrocious, and Ronan does not give a single fuck), then strokes his thumb down the side of Ronan’s face, kisses him again. “How did you sleep?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, doesn’t shift his face out of kissing reach, “no worse than usual.” Bad dreams aplenty, but nothing quite at nightmares. He’s not sure if that’s due to luck, or due to the comfort of Adam in his bed, but he’s grateful for it either way. 

 

“Good,” Adam says, kisses him again, and Ronan figures he probably ought to respond in kind. 

 

“You?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam shrugs, “you’re surprisingly nice to sleep with.” 

 

“Surprisingly?” Ronan repeats, attempting to sound miffed but honestly too tired and too comfortable in Adam’s arms to quite make it, “Rude.” 

 

“Surprisingly,” Adam repeats lightly, squeezing Ronan round the waist, “because I’m not really a fan of sleeping with people usually, and so far I've liked sleeping with you. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” 

 

“Sap,” Ronan accuses, feeling his insides grow warm. Adam rolls his eyes, and then releases him. 

 

“Yup,” he agrees, “want coco pops too?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, skirts around Adam to pull a bowl out for him, “it’s too early to eat.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, pours coco pops, “but you’ll eat breakfast a bit later, yeah?” 

 

Ronan narrows his eyes at Adam, grabs the milk out of the fridge and hands it over, “Are you making a pointed comment about my eating habits?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, drowns his coco pops, “a pointed comment would be more like; ‘you won’t have enough energy to make out at the movies tonight if you skip breakfast.’”

 

Ronan snorts, then scowls, “Pointed enough,” he says, “I can monitor my own food intake, thanks.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, mild, “you think it needs monitoring, then?” 

 

“Piss off,” Ronan says, thumps back over to the cupboards and grabs a couple of mugs, “I have therapy later, I don’t need you to do it.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says again, carries his sloppy breakfast over to the counter and puts it down, rummages around for a spoon, then turns his attention back to the coffee, “I’m not trying to pry, Ro, I’m just - I just want the best for you.” 

 

“The best for me,” Ronan says, “is coffee and sleep.” 

 

He can all but feel Adam rolling his eyes. While Adam finishes up with the coffee, Ronan slumps down at the counter, steals a couple of mouthfuls of Adam’s cereal, and instructs Adam on how much sugar he needs in his coffee. Adam’s eyes are probably going to fall out of his head if he keeps rolling them. 

 

Eventually, they’re both sitting down at the counter, Ronan pretending he didn’t eat half of Adam’s coco pops, Adam indulging him in this fantasy. Also indulging him in his desire to be half sprawled across Adam despite the fact that they’re sitting on stools at the kitchen counter. 

 

“I didn’t know you did rowing,” Adam muses after a few moments of quiet chewing, he plucks at Ronan’s jumper, “Aglionby Rowing Team? You don’t strike me as the type.” 

 

Ronan snorts into his coffee. 

 

“God, no,” he says, “no. I didn’t. This is Gansey’s. God, like I’d ever be that fucking pretentious.” 

 

“No,” Gansey says from the doorway. He’s wrapped up in a thick floral dressing gown and an exasperated expression, “You were only the top tennis player and head of the godawful bagpiping group.” 

 

“Fuck up,” Ronan snaps, sitting straight up and glaring at Gansey and his ridiculously tousled bed head, “at least I didn’t keep my school sports jumpers.” 

 

“Well honestly,” Gansey drawls, crossing over to the coffee pot and making a pleased noise when there’s still hot coffee in it, “neither did I, seeing as you stole my jumper and refuse to give it back.”  He holds the pot up in Adam’s direction, “May I?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam replies, lifts his own mug towards Gansey, “I have enough. It’s your coffee anyway.” 

 

“Cheers,” Gansey replies, drinks straight from the jug.

 

“Tennis, huh?” Adam says to Ronan, squeezes his arms tight around Ronan’s shoulders, and Ronan scowls harder at Gansey, who’s ignoring him in favour of pouring the rest of the coffee into the largest mug they own. 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, begrudgingly, “I was fucking good. I was never an asshole prep like Gansey though.” 

 

“That’s true,” Gansey says brightly, stirring in his weird coffee adders, “Ronan prefered the whole glare and hiss at people in highschool approach rather than the let’s be friends approach I took.” 

 

“I can imagine that,” Adam says, he sounds amused, “how on earth did you and Gansey become friends, then?” 

 

Gansey snorts. Ronan scowls. 

 

“I mistook him for his older brother, Declan,” Gansey says brightly, “when I first moved to Henrietta, and approached him because I’d been told that Declan was a bit of a local history buff, and I wanted to know if he had any suggestions for historic sites to explore-” 

 

“Because Gansey’s always been a dumb overachiever over nerd shit,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

Gansey ignores him and continues, “but I got Ronan instead, who glared at me and told me that I could try exploring my ass, and then blushed bright red and backtracked and said he could take me up a trail near an abandoned church site if I wanted.” 

 

Adam raises his eyebrows, amused, side eyes Ronan who’s slowly turning vaguely pink. 

 

“He didn’t tell me he wasn’t Declan until we’d started the trail the next day, and before I could work up an appropriate response to hearing that, a bee started chasing me and I freaked out, so we didn’t end up doing the walk because Ronan spent about 3 hours calming me down and consoling me with icecream, so-” Gansey continues briskly, “I got treated to the real, and caring Ronan before I had a chance to be overexposed to his faux rough exterior, and we were friends ever since.” 

 

“How romantic,” Adam smirks, Ronan elbows him, Gansey grins dreamily. 

 

“Truly a story to go down in history,” he says grandly, swirls his coffee in his mug.

 

“You’re allergic to bees, then?” Adam asks, “Or is it just a phobia?” 

 

“Deathly allergic,” Ronan mumbles, downs the last of his coffee, “one sting could kill him. Which he didn’t think was necessary to tell me until after I got him away from the fucking bee.” 

 

“You need to forgive me for that sometime,” Gansey says lightly. 

 

“You could have died,” Ronan points out, “and then we would never have been friends, and I would have hated the memory of you forever for dying on me.” 

 

“But I didn’t!” 

 

“But you could have,” Ronan retorts childishly, then turns back to Adam, “we should probably head out, yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, puts his empty coffee mug back on the counter, and hops off the stool, “lemme just run to the bathroom and go grab my stuff.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They drive most of the way to Adam’s work in silence, until Ronan sighs heavily at a stop light, and turns in his seat to look at Adam. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks firmly, and Adam looks at him in surprise. 

 

“What?” he says, “Nothing’s -” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan cuts him off, shakes his head, “you’ve been… tense or some shit. If it’s something that I did, would you please just tell me?” 

 

Adam is silent for a moment, and then shrugs a little, looks away out his window. “It really is nothing,” he says, “nothing important anyway. It’s just - I’m a little jealous. Which is stupid. I know I don’t have anything to be jealous of.” 

 

“Jealous?” Ronan says, his turn for surprise. The light turns green, and he starts driving again, “Of what? Of...me and Gansey?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam sighs, “it’s - let me … preface this by saying that I know nothing’s going on between the two of you, and that I trust you, and I don’t want you to change how you interact with Gansey or anything - this is all me -” 

 

“Adam,” Ronan says, “what?” 

 

“You two are so close,” Adam shrugs, “and have been for so long. And you obviously… love each other a lot, and you’ve been through a lot together. I’ve never had that. And - I feel like I’ll never have that - because,” he’s still staring out the window, very intently, “I’m not wired for that kind of friendship or whatever, and - I don’t know if I’m so jealous because of your fucking great friendship, or because I’m a possessive asshole who wants you wearing my jumpers, not Gansey’s.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. Adam is staring out the window even harder now. As if he’s willing himself to disappear. “Ok,” he says, “I -” 

 

“I know,” Adam says quietly, “and like I said, I don’t want you to feel like you need to change anything, this is all on me. It’s just - it’s not a big deal.” 

 

“I think you’re wired just fine for deep friendships,” Ronan says loudly, “and I think you’ll definitely have them. I certainly hope you will because I want that with you. Both in a - in a friend way and in a romantic way.”

 

“Oh,” Adam says, clears his throat. Ronan continues. 

 

“And I’d fucking love to wear your jumpers,” he says, “and I don’t think you’re an asshole for… for feeling jealous. You’d be an asshole if you told me I couldn’t wear Gansey’s jumper, or - or - if you tried to get in between me and Gans, or whatever, but you’re not.” 

 

“I would never,” Adam says quickly, looking at Ronan now, “I - I’m just - I want to do this right, Ronan-” 

 

“You are,” Ronan interjects, “you really are.” They’ve arrived outside Adam’s work now, Ronan’s pulled up, but neither of them make any move to end the conversation. 

 

“You can borrow a jumper if you like,” Adam mumbles, “just - look - if you’re uncomfortable with me - with me seeming too jealous, tell me, because I don't want that. I don’t want to be jealous.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, then, “Adam, just - I know you know, but listen - I might have had a crush on Gans when I was like 15 or some shit? But it was never serious. He’s more my brother than anything else. And I - the only person I have ever - the only person I have ever truly felt, uh, attracted to - both physically and mentally and uh - it’s you, ok? You’re the only one who I’ve ever been with that I’ve really, really liked.” 

 

They’re both silent for a long moment, Ronan’s words stretching embarrassingly between them. He doesn’t exactly want to take his words back, he just wants to reform them into a less embarrassing cluster of words.

 

“Oh,” Adam says, swallows hard, reaches out to take Ronan’s hand where it’s resting on the gear stick, entwines their fingers together. “Um,”  he says, “me too. I mean. You are. I mean. I’ve liked other people, I guess, but never, never as much as you. Never like you. You’re - I feel right with you.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “glad we’re on the same page.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “um. I should probably go to work,” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “have a good day? I’ll pick you up for the movie and dinner later?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, smiles a little, then leans in to kiss Ronan’s cheek lightly. Ronan makes a vaguely grumpy noise, and Adam readjusts, kisses him on the lips. “Bye,” he says, hops out of the car. 

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan goes back home. It’s far too early to go to therapy yet, and he doesn’t want to drive around for the couple of hours between now and then. He texts Adam as soon as he gets back home, retrieves his phone from where he left it on the lounge floor last night. He has a ream of new messages which he purposefully does not look at.

  
  


-

  
  


Tuesday

7:04 (am)

-I’m expecting to get one of your jumpers soon. 

  
  


-

  
  


Gansey is still puttering around in the kitchen when he gets in, dressing gown untied, another pot of coffee brewing.

 

“Oh,” he says when Ronan comes in, “you’re back!”

 

“I’m going back to bed too,” Ronan grunts, doesn’t start walking towards the door, just drops himself down at the counter. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, turns around to look Ronan over, “what happened?” 

 

“Nothing happened,” Ronan says sharply, and Gansey sighs. 

 

“Is this to do with your phone being on the floor last night?” he asks. 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “well - no. That was because of Kavinsky. Last night was -” he doesn’t know why he’s always so compelled to just tell Gansey everything. “I told Adam about Kavinsky last night. Told him about a lot of things last night.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, again, “Oh. How did that go?” 

 

“Like a bitch,” Ronan snorts, sighs, waves his hand about in the air, and dumps his head down on the counter, “I mean - he took it really well. He was - he was great. And I’m glad I told him.”

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “good. I’m glad. So why the glum mood?” 

 

“Because,” Ronan snaps, “because. I really, really fucking like him, Gansey.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says slowly, “so, again, why the glum mood?” 

 

Ronan gives him his specialised, ‘are you purposefully this obtuse’ expression which he’d perfected throughout high school. “Because,” he says, “I have some fucking sadistic maniac stalking me, unresolved trauma that goes back for years, and no fucking life plans.”

 

“Ah,” Gansey says, “so this is the glum mood of you thinking you’re not good enough for him again?”

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, frowns, “a little,” he says bitterly, “but it’s more that I think this could be dangerous. Kavinsky could be dangerous. I don’t want my feelings to be the reason he gets hurt.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says, “first of all, it wouldn’t be your feelings. Your feelings for him isn’t what’s keeping him here, it’s his feelings for you, so it would be his feelings for you that would get him hurt-” 

 

“Yes thank you,” Ronan snaps. Gansey continues. 

 

“And secondly, only one those issues have any potential to get Adam hurt.” 

 

“So fine,” Ronan snorts, “maybe it is also a little about how I don’t think I’m good enough for him.” 

 

“Are you going to talk to him about that?” Gansey asks, carefully, and Ronan snorts unhappily. 

 

“You don’t think I’ve told him enough shit lately already? How much more shit do you think he can take? Adam I’m so scared I’m not good enough for you. Oh, by the way Adam, my father is dead and that fucks me up, oh by the way, I have an ex not ex who has hundreds of pornographic images of me and is stalking me, and also, by the way, crashed your car. Oh by the way, I tried to kill myself, oh by the way I-” 

 

“Ok, stop,” Gansey says firmly, “stop, Ro. You’re working yourself up. You don’t have to talk to him about it. Or not right away or whatever. You could talk to Calla about it. Just - I’ve told you this before, but I will a million times over - you deserve someone as clever, and as loving as Adam. You deserve him.” 

 

“Stop,” Ronan mumbles, presses his face against the counter, “I like him so much,” he whispers, “I just want to be able to like him and be with him without having fucking meltdowns all the time.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, calm, “you’ll get there, Ro. You’re working on this. Things are going to work out fine.” He’s circled round the counter now, is resting his hand between Ronan’s shoulder blades, “I promise.” 

 

“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” Ronan says roughly, “I didn’t know it fucking could be.” 

 

“What?” Gansey asks, he’s perching on the stool next to Ronan leaning in against his side, tugging Ronan towards him. 

 

“Fucking-” Ronan grunts out, coherent, “actually - y’know. Fuck. Being with someone you like and… and wanting them so fucking much - I - it’s really fucking overwhelming.” 

 

“Ah,” Gansey says, pulls him closer so he can wrap both of his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, props his chin up on Ronan’s head. 

 

“Is this-” Ronan mumbles, wipes his running nose on the shoulder of Gansey’s dressing gown, ignores Gansey grumble, “is this how you feel with Blue?” 

 

“I feel,” Gansey says slowly, “I feel like she - when I’m with her,” he says, “she makes me feel quiet. Peaceful. I feel like - not that nothing matters - but that things will go right so long as I’m with her.”

 

“Sap,” Ronan sniffs. 

 

“You’re the one crying about how much you like your boyfriend,” Gansey points out, not meanly, “you’re going to be ok, Ronan.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, “ok.” 

  
  


-

  
  


He doesn’t know what he most wants to talk to Calla about today. It feels like he has too many issues pressing in on him, and not enough words. Or not enough strength to say the amount of words he needs to say. Honestly, he would almost prefer if his therapy was just being hugged for a few hours straight. But, not with Calla. That would be weird. She doesn’t offer him a coffee today. Just wordlessly produces a hot chocolate, and sits down opposite him. 

 

“I told Adam about Kavinsky,” Ronan starts off. That’s one of the main things on his mind right now, so he supposes it’s probably one of the more useful things to say. 

 

“Oh?” Calla asks. 

 

“I want him to know me,” Ronan mumbles to his knees, “and right now… right now this shit with Kavinsky makes up about 4/5ths of who I am.”

 

“You really think that?” 

 

“Don’t try and psycho babble me,” Ronan grunts, and Calla snorts. 

 

“That’s a little bit my job,” she points out, and Ronan scowls at her. 

 

“Yes,” he says, “I really think that. Most of who I am right now is fucking… regret and anger and… and crying, and that’s a lot to do with Kavinsky, so, yeah. I think that’s fair to say.” 

 

“Ok,” Calla says, “that is fair, what’s the 1/5th of you leftover made up of?” 

 

“Occasionally alcohol,” Ronan says, “more often coffee.”  Calla gives him a look, and he changes his answer begrudgingly. “I don’t know,” he sighs, “I - you know what I did today?” 

 

“Are you changing the subject?” Calla asks. 

 

“No,” Ronan says stoutly, “it’s about - fuck - I fucking cried about how much I fucking lo- like Adam. So. That’s what the other 5th is made up of.”

 

“Affection?” Calla says. 

 

“God,” Ronan grunts, “yes. I guess.” 

 

“That’s not a bad thing, you know,” Calla says, she’s smiling slightly. Ronan grunts again, passes his hand over his eyes. 

 

“I know,” he says, “I know. It’s just - I know.” 

 

“You’re not lacking in affection at all, are you?” Calla asks then, “You have friends who love you, brothers that love you, even if they’re terrible at showing it sometimes, and so much capacity within yourself to love.” 

 

“1/5ths,” Ronan points out, sour, “and if you’re trying to tell me that I don’t have a good reason to be so fucked up because I have love or some shit, you can fuck right off.” 

 

“I’m not,” Calla says calmly, “I’m just pointing out that it’s a large thing in your life, probably more than the 1/5th you think it is. It just looks a lot smaller to you right now because you’re being so surrounded by this loud negativity from Kavinsky, from your own mind.” 

 

“Gee thanks,” Ronan grumbles.

 

“That wasn’t a dig at you,” Calla says, she’s rolling her eyes (Ronan is pretty sure that HAS to be against some therapy code), “tell me more about why you decided to talk to Adam about this.” 

 

“Because”, Ronan says, interrupts himself to take a long slurping drink, “because all of you are right. Kavinsky is fucking dangerous, and if he got Adam hurt - again - I don’t think I could forgive myself.” 

 

“I see,” Calla says, “are you not worried about Kavinsky hurting you again?” 

 

“Of course I am,” he scowls, “how can I not be?”

 

“Over exposure?” Calla suggests, “Feeling like you deserve what he’s doing to you?” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Ronan mumbles, folds his arms tightly across his chest. 

 

“Do you deserve what he’s done to you?” Calla asks calmly, “What he’s doing?” 

 

“I know the answer is no,” Ronan says, sour. 

 

“And?” Calla prompts. 

 

“What do you want me to say?” Ronan snaps, and Calla shrugs. 

 

“Tell me why you feel like you deserve it?” 

 

“Because,” Ronan says exhales, “because I asked for it. Because I didn’t say no loud enough.” 

 

“When you asked for it,” Calla says lightly, examining her (sparkly lilac) nails, “did you really want it?” 

 

“Depends.” Ronan grunts. 

 

“Did you want it,” Calla says, “or did you want to be punished? Want a distraction?” 

 

“I didn’t want it,” Ronan says. It doesn’t really matter what ‘it’ was. He had never wanted any of it with Kavinsky. Not exactly. Not really. Not want. 

 

“He knew that?” Calla asks. 

 

“He always knew that,” Ronan says. 

 

“And how,” Calla asks, “did that make you feel?” 

 

“Fucking Jesus, Mary,” Ronan snaps, “seriously? How did it make me feel? Now you’re acting like a fucking therapist?” 

 

Calla raises both her eyebrows. Waits. 

 

“It made me feel relieved,” Ronan snaps, “because everyone else was walking on eggshells around me, was trying to make me feel better and I didn’t fucking believe that I should get that. K never tried to be nice. He just gave me what I needed, and took what he wanted, and that’s what I- that’s what-” he cuts himself off to swear extravagantly. 

 

“And you deserved it, because?” Calla asks. 

 

“I don’t-” Ronan says, shakes his head, “-I can’t right now- I - fuck.” 

 

“Ok,” Calla says, doesn’t sound at all disappointed, “tell me something else.” 

 

Ronan breathes for a moment. Then nods. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “I went to boxing again yesterday.” 

 

“How did it go?”

 

“I fucking - got all fucked up over dad, cried, left early, was mean to Matthew, was rude to Declan, was - basically it was a disaster.” 

 

“Eh,” Calla says, shrugs, “that isn’t surprising.” 

 

Ronan glares. 

 

“It isn’t,” Calla repeats seriously. “You’re putting yourself in a very vulnerable position, getting back into old habits, especially ones like boxing where, for you, there’s a lot of history with people very important to you. Of course you’re going to feel on edge about it, fragile about it.” 

 

“I’m not fragile,” Ronan snaps, and Calla snorts. 

 

“Sorry,” she says, rolls her eyes again, “of course you’re not.” 

 

“Rude,” Ronan sniffs. 

  
  


-

  
  


He leaves Calla’s feeling a lot better than he had anticipated feeling. Also a lot more confused. He still didn’t know what he was going to do about Kavinsky. Not properly. Not yet. It’s not like he had any answers to any of his huge ass problems, just small answers to his small ass problems. Which, he supposed, was necessary, so that he wasn’t trying to fix the house on top of crumbling foundations. That was Calla’s metaphor, but he liked it. What he didn’t like, was how, despite feeling better, he also felt so raw after these sessions. 

 

Feeling raw wasn’t exactly a new thing to him. He’d been feeling scraped and bloody for years now, always mere feet away from a break down, but talking it all out like this made him feel only a breath away from tears for hours afterwards. 

 

Before he left this time, Calla had suggested that he start making appointments for right after he finishes with her. Friend appointments, she called it, or, comfort appointments. Where he goes to just ‘chill’ with someone he trusts, or gets an ice cream, or fries, or something like that to unwind in a way he feels safe. 

 

This did feel like quite a good idea, it just meant that to do it, he would have to actually ask someone to do that for him. Would have to accept that he might end up crying in front of them. Not something he really actually wants to accept. Not something he wants to ask. He knows that it’s a terrible idea to just go back to his currently empty house though, to be alone with his thought, so he sits in his car outside Calla’s for a while, then texts Noah. 

  
  


-

  
  


Tuesday

11:53 (am)

-you home? 

 

11:59

+and naked :D 

 

12:00 (pm)

-...Great? 

 

12:00

+are you coming over my little sugar puff? 

 

12:02

-I was considering it, but y’know? I might not. 

 

12:03

+Awwwwwww, i’ll put some undies on! C’mon and come over i miss you x

 

12:04

-Put actual pants on and I’ll come. 

 

12:05

+Boxer shorts? 

 

12:06

-Ok. See you soon. 

 

12:06

\+ :-*

  
  


-

  
  


Noah is in bright pink booty pants when he arrives. He’s also holding a steaming pot of coffee, which is at least part of the reason Ronan doesn’t turn around and leave again. 

 

“Ok, so,” Noah says as he leads the way into the kitchen to pour the coffees, “what brought you here to little ol’ me?” 

 

“Do I need an excuse to hang out with one of my oldest friends?” Ronan bites out sarcastically, sags against the counter. 

 

“No,” Noah says, turns around to look at Ronan a lot more seriously than he had been expecting, “but recently I’ve only really been seeing you when you have something big you wanna tell me, or you’re feeling really shit.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, sags further. This is very true. “I’m sorry,” he says, opens his mouth to say more, but Noah gets in before him. 

 

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to,” he says firmly, “I am happy you come to me with your shit, I just wish that maybe you would come to me other times as well.”

 

“Right,” Ronan mumbles, “sorry.” 

 

“Again,” Noah says, turns his attention back to the coffee, “I’m happy you’re here. I’m happy to help. I want to help. You don’t need to apologise, but I’m glad you are, and I forgive you.” 

 

“Thanks,” Ronan says, rubs his arms, “things have been - thanks.”

 

“Of course,” Noah says, shoots him a soft smile, “c’mon, let’s drink in the lounge and you can tell me what’s up.” 

 

“Nothing’s up,” Ronan says, sighs, follows Noah, “well I mean. A lot of shit is up, but I’m here because - because I just had therapy and my therapist and I agree that it’s probably best not to be alone afterwards.” 

 

“Ahh,” Noah says, drops himself down on the couch, spills coffee over his knuckles and hisses. “Sit with me,” he directs Ronan, holds out a mug in his direction. Ronan sits. “Do you wanna talk about your therapy?” Noah asks, “Or should we just chat about shit?” 

 

“I would prefer to chat about shit,” Ronan says, sips at the coffee, “tell me what you’ve been up to?” 

 

“Ok well,” Noah starts theatrically, waves his coffee hand, spills it again. “You know Henry Cheng?” 

 

“Under great duress, yes,” Ronan says, narrows his eyes. 

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Noah snorts, “just because you’re jealous of his hair-” 

 

“My hair could look like that too,” Ronan objects, “it’s just shaved, Noah!” 

 

“-Just because you’re jealous of his hair,” Noah continues loudly, “doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be a piss baby about him, anyway. I’ve been hanging out with him a lot recently and-” 

 

“Oh no,” Ronan says, throws himself dramatically back, spills his own coffee this time, “don’t tell me you have a crush.” 

 

“You hold your tongue, Ronan Niall Asshole Lynch,” Noah says tartly, “you’re in no position to get all teasey about crushes-” 

 

“I’m not teasing you about having a crush,” Ronan grins, “I’m teasing you about having a crush on Henry-” 

 

“Henry is lovely,” Noah protests, “he’s clever, and good looking, and very funny, and his eyebrows-” 

 

“-And only has eyes for Gansey?” Ronan suggests, raising his eyebrows, and Noah smacks him on the leg. 

 

“That’s very rude of you to point out,” Noah says, but he’s smiling a little, “I think I can work around that.” 

 

“Ok fine,” Ronan says, pushes his feet onto Noah’s lap, “tell me about your sweet little fanfiction worthy moments with him.” 

 

“Oh good,” Noah says, “well to start off with -” 

  
  


-

  
  


He and Noah make pikelets for lunch, have more coffee than they probably should, and Noah ends up convincing Ronan to call Declan. According to Noah, family is one of the more important things in life, and if they want to help, if they want to extend the olive branch, you ought to fucking take it. Ronan points out that in some cases this would be a terrible idea, some families just don’t deserve their olive branch being accepted. Noah points out that while that is true, it isn’t the case for Ronan, and he knows Declan is an asshole, but he’s an asshole who cares about him and is probably freaking the fuck out about what Kavinsky is sending him. 

Ronan attempts to point out that Declan might not even answer the phone, but Noah just snorts at him. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Ronan?” Declan sounds either exceedingly irritated, or mildly panicked. He answered on the first ring. “You’re not at the police station, are you?” 

 

“What?” Ronan snaps, “No. I’m not. Fuck off.” 

 

“You fuck off,” Declan retorts, “what do you want?” 

 

Ronan casts a heated glare at Noah, who smiles beatifically back and waves his hand. “I want to fucking-” Ronan grits out, “-say sorry.” 

 

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Declan says, “Are you being blackmailed into this, Ronan?” 

 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, pulls an aggrieved face at Noah who just laughs, “No. Asshole. I’m just- God. Never mind.” 

 

“No, wait, wait,” Declan says, “what are you apologising for?” 

 

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Ronan snaps, Noah elbows him. 

 

“Ronan, please,” Declan says, and now he doesn’t even sound frustrated anymore, just exhausted, and that - that fucking hurts to hear. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says again, mumbles it into his phone, “for not telling you about what was going on.” 

 

“Oh,” Declan says, “oh.” 

 

He doesn’t say, ‘that’s ok,’ or, ‘I forgive you’, and that’s probably good, because none of this is ok. Ronan doesn’t want to be forgiven so easily. He does want forgiveness though. He grits his teeth and continues. 

 

“At first I didn’t want to be stopped,” Ronan says, is admitting this as much to himself as he is to Declan, “and then I didn’t want to give you an excuse to hate me even more, and then I was just… embarrassed. I should have told you earlier.” 

 

“I have never hated you,” Declan says, his voice isn’t firm. It doesn’t even sound like Declan. “Never.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “oh.” 

 

“Will you tell me what’s going on now, then?” Declan asks, and Ronan sighs heavily. 

 

“You know what’s going on,” he says, and now Declan sighs heavily. 

 

“I know that Kavinsky has some horrific photos that he’s sending me,” Declan says, “and now I suppose I know some of what he did to you, but I still don’t know what’s going on with you, Ro. I want to know.” 

 

“I-” Ronan says, swallows, stares despondently at Noah, “-I don’t want to do this over the phone.” 

 

“Ok,” Declan says immediately, he sounds like he’s opening up his scheduling app, “I could meet you in half an hour?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, “I can’t do today. Maybe tomorrow?” 

 

“Ronan,” Declan grumbles. 

 

“I can’t do it today, Declan,” Ronan repeats, “I just can’t.” 

 

“Ok fine,” Declans says, “tomorrow lunch?” 

 

“Fine,” Ronan says, “come to mine. I don’t want to do this in public.” 

 

“Ok,” Declan agrees, “who are you with right now?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Who are you with? Are you safe?” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “yes. I’m with Noah right now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

“I’ll text you about times,” Declan says. Ronan hangs up. 

 

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Noah says with as much cheerfulness as he can muster, and Ronan rolls his eyes at him, then blinks hard until they stop burning. 

 

“Now I have to fucking see him tomorrow,” he grumbles, and Noah clucks, pats him on the arm. 

 

“You’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly, “I’ll be a phone call away to yell at me about how bad an idea it was afterwards.” 

 

“Good,” Ronan says, “I’ll hold you to that.”

  
  


-

  
  


He doesn’t go home before picking Adam up just, goes goes straight from Adam’s flat to Adam’s work. This means that he got to spend quite a lot of time with Jane Austen, which in turn means, that he doesn’t even need to speak for Adam to know where he was. 

 

“Have a good time with Noah and Jane?” Adam asks as he hops into the car. 

 

Ronan glances down at his fur covered self, and shrugs, “I guess,” he says, “how’re you?” 

 

“Good,” Adam replies, hesitates, then leans across to kiss Ronan hard. “Did you steal one of my jumpers while you were at mine?” 

 

“No,” Ronan sighs, curls his hands in the fabric of Adam’s shirt to keep him close, “I completely forgot. It’s very upsetting.”

 

“Mm,” Adam says against his lips, “I bet it is. You’ll have to remind me later.” He kisses Ronan again, softer. 

 

“Ready to go?” Ronan asks, not ready to let go of Adam yet. 

 

“Hm,” Adam says, leans in more against Ronan, “in a minute.” 

 

Once they’re buckled in and on the road, Adam leans against the car window and watches Ronan drive. “Was Calla’s ok?” he asks, and Ronan shrugs again. 

 

“Yeah,” he says after a few more moments. “I’m finding it really useful, actually.” 

 

“I’m glad,” Adam says, “I’m really - really impressed with you, y’know.” 

 

“What?” Ronan snorts, “For what?” 

 

“For actually going to therapy,” Adam says plainly, “for getting help. I know you think - I know you think I’m like - good at dealing with my shit? But I think I’ve shown you that’s not really true.” 

 

They’re both silent for a while, and then Ronan glances at Adam. 

 

“Do you want to?” he asks, “Go to therapy?” 

 

Adam laughs. “No,” he says, “but it - I don’t want to, but-” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, looks back at the road, “I know.” 

 

Adam makes a vaguely noncommittal noise. 

 

“How is that going,” Ronan asks, as casually as he can, “with your mum?” 

 

Adam makes a much more noncommittal noise. Ronan continues looking at the road. Adam sighs.

 

“Not great,” he says, “she - her treatment isn’t going well. She’s asking for more money than what I’m giving.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. 

 

“I can’t give them anymore,” Adam says flatly, “I just can’t. If I get another job I won’t have time to study, and if I don’t have time to study there’s no point in having so many jobs, because I only have them all to pay from my tuition fees. It’s all just - just a bit useless.” 

 

“So don’t give them anymore,” Ronan says, “you don’t owe them anything.” 

 

Adam snorts. “I know,” he says, “I know that, Ronan, it still makes me feel like a fucked up shithole though.” 

 

“Is there anything we can do,” Ronan says slowly, “to help with the cost, without you having to actually pay? LIke, we could set up a GoFundMe? Or, do you have any other family in the area who could help out?” 

 

Adam snorts again. “No,” he says, “and, another thing,” he adds slowly, sighs heavily, “I’m - God, I’m going to sound even shittier right now, but? I’m starting to wonder if she’s lying about it.” 

 

“About it costing more?” Ronan asks, cautious, and Adam shakes his head. 

 

“No,” he says, “or maybe. But - about the whole thing. I’m starting to think - to worry - that she just made it all up because she knew I wouldn’t be able to say no if it was because of - I wouldn’t be able to say no.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “I see.” 

 

“But,” Adam grinds out, “I don’t know how to - how to check if I’m right without, I don’t know, asking her outright, but then she might lie, and- I don’t know, Ro. I’m just so tired of it all.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, feels a little bit useless. “I’m sorry, babe.” 

 

“Anyway,” Adam says firmly, “let’s not talk about this right now, actually, I want to go out and have fun with you, and make out in a movie theatre with explosions in the background. We can talk about my shit later, maybe.” 

 

“We’ll talk about your shit later,” Ronan says firmly, “we’ll sort this out.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan buys popcorn and drinks while Adam goes to the toilet. When he gets back, Ronan pretends he has no idea he has done so. Adam looks like he’s going to argue, but then rolls his eyes and leads the way into the cinema instead. 

 

It’s a rerun, so the theatre isn’t packed, but it’s a fucking great movie, so it’s not exactly empty either. Ronan just has to hope that no one sits too close to them that Adam decides he’d rather not do the kissing thing. 

 

Nobody does. 

 

Adam very much does not change his mind. 

  
  


-

  
  


They end up getting takeaway Indian for dinner, and driving back to Adam’s to eat it on his bed. Blue is out at her mother’s helping with a mass bottling of herbal teas, and Noah is out at one of his many parties, so they have the house and Jane to themselves. They don’t talk about anything in particular the entire way through dinner, snickering about dumb jokes and mumbling lines of the movie at each other. Mostly just grunting in imitation of Max. It’s nice not having to hold a real conversation but still feel like you’re making a real connection. The piecemeal conversation they’re having isn’t what’s bringing the feel of intimacy, it’s the amused way Adam snorts, and the way he leans back into Ronan’s touch even when it’s just a brush of hands, and the way Ronan knows to always speak to his right, and - everything. Everything about it that’s not words is them having a deeper conversation. It’s probably a bit stupid, Ronan thinks, to be feeling like this, to be feeling so ecstatically comfortable with this, but there is no point in denying it. 

 

After they’ve eaten, Ronan flops across the bed while Adam goes to rinse and chuck out their containers, ignores his phone vibrating in his pocket. If it’s Gansey, he knows where Ronan is right now, and if it’s an emergency, he could contact Adam. If it’s Declan, Ronan does not want to deal with it. If it’s Kavinsky, Ronan does not want to know. It is harder than it used to be, to lie there ignoring his phone. 

 

“Is that you buzzing?” Adam asks when he comes back in, doesn’t return to the bed, crosses the room to his wardrobe instead. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts into the bedspread, “sorry.” 

 

Adam snorts, “Babe,” he says, crouching down to peer into the bottom drawers of the wardrobe, “you don’t need to be sorry for your phone. Are you ignoring it?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, watches Adam under his arm, eyes half closed, “do you need to do some homework?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, straightening up again, jumper in hand, “do you wanna stay?” 

 

“Kinda,” Ronan says, squints, then sits up as Adam comes back over to perch on the edge of the bed, to thrust the jumper at him. “Oh.”

 

“You can have this,” Adam says, “so long as I can have one of yours. I don’t have enough jumpers to just give one away.” 

 

Ronan snorts, takes the jumper from Adam’s hands quickly and presses it to his face. It’s well worn, rubbed down into softness. It smells like Adam. A lingering echo of gasoline, a stronger scent of cleanliness. 

 

“You just want to wear my clothes,” Ronan retorts happily, already tugging the jumper over his head, “of course you can have one of mine. Fuck, have 5. I wanna see you in all my shit.” 

 

“That’s a bit excessive,” Adam says, but he’s smiling as he says, “and also a bit sweet.” 

 

“You’re a bit sweet,” Ronan snaps back, well aware that this is in fact, not an insult, “how do I look in this, then?” 

 

“Aw,” Adam says, reaching out to pluck at the fabric on Ronan’s shoulders, “I didn’t realise my shoulders were bigger than yours. You look cute like this.” 

 

“Fuck that,” Ronan grumbles, “I was aiming for sexy.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, doesn’t resist as Ronan wraps his arms around his waist to gather him closer, “you look sexy.” 

 

“Now you’re just pandering to me,” Ronan says, presses a kiss to the base of Adam’s neck, the hollow at his clavicle which really shouldn’t be so hollow. 

 

“Mmm,” Adam says, tips his head back, “I’m not. I’m really not.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, exhales heavily across Adam’s skin, follows his breath with wet kisses, “am I, then?” 

 

“Are you sexy?” Adam asks, disbelief colouring his voice as he tips his head back down, stopping Ronan’s kiss progress up Adam’s neck, “Do you really need to ask this?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan grits out, doesn’t want to look at Adam’s incredulous expression, so he ducks back down to bite gently at the edge of Adam’s jaw. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says firmly, a little breathily as Ronan kisses just below his earlobe, “yeah, you’re fucking hot. Fucking sexy. Seriously Ro, this can’t be the first time anyone’s told you this.” 

 

“It’s not,” Ronan says, tightens his arms around Adam, “I just didn’t trust anyone elses opinions.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says slowly, brings his hand up to brush against the back of Ronan’s head, “you have eyes though.” 

 

“Well ok,” Ronan concedes, thinks he’s doing far too much talking with his mouth and really not enough of everything else, “so theoretically I know I’m far too good looking for this world, but it’s nice knowing you think so too.” 

 

Adam laughs at him, to trails his hand down his nape, presses his nails in slightly until Ronan shudders. “I do,” he says, “I really do, I - fuck, Ro, you’re the prettiest thing I ever touched.” 

 

“Pretty,” Ronan mumbles, feeling like his stomach has dropped out of him only to be replaced by a swarm of pissed off butterflies, “isn’t synonyous with sexy.” 

 

“Mm,” Adam says, “but you are.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan manages, “you lied didn’t you, you’re actually studying sweet talking not law.” 

 

“You got me,” Adam grins, pulls back enough that he can push back at Ronan until Ronan’s leaning back against the pillows, “and I wanna make you my Masters project.” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, aiming for a much more deprecating tone than he lands on, “you’re such a - such a nerd, Parrish.” 

 

“Maybe,” Adam says, now he’s the one pressing kisses to Ronan’s neck, Ronan tipping his head back and closing his eyes, “but you’re gettin’ all turned on anyway, so I don’ see how that’s a problem here.” 

 

“Never said,” Ronan mumbles, “was a problem.” 

 

“Y’know what is a problem though?” Adam says, sighs against Ronan’s throat. 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, presses his head back further to encourage more kissing. 

 

“I still have homework to do, baby.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “fuck. I’ve changed my mind, you being a nerd is a problem.” 

 

“Mhm,” Adam says, grips his chin with his thumb and forefinger and gently tugs Ronan’s face back down, kisses his softly, “you wanna stay though?” he asks, presses another kiss to the corner of Ronan’s mouth, “You could stay here tonight. I’ll kiss you more afterwards.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan replies, has to think about it for a few long moments while Adam kisses his cheeks, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “Yeah ok.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, kisses him on the lips again, then pulls away, “I won’t take too long.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Adam does his homework, huddled over his desk, face blank in concentration. 

 

Ronan lies on the bed, Jane on his stomach, kneading his chest and purring loud enough that it takes him a good 5 minute to realise his phone is also buzzing again. Not constantly, just on and off. Another 15 minutes for Adam to realise as well. 

 

“Baby,” he says, not looking up from his laptop, “d’you want me to check your texts for you?” 

 

He used to do this with Gansey and Noah while they were in high school. His phone would ring, or he’d get a barrage of texts, and he’d just chuck it at them to answer or to read the texts. He couldn’t be bothered then. Now he just doesn’t want to risk seeing his own fucking bloodied back. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, lifts his hips as cautiously as possible so as not to dislodge Jane (who’s finally stopped her prinking and has settled down into one fluffy loaf), tugs his phone from his back pocket, and tosses it at Adam who catches it one handed and just holds it for a moment while he finishes typing something. Ronan very studiously does not watch Adam open his phone. 

 

“What’s your passcode, babe?” Adam asks, and Ronan sighs.

 

He forgets that he might feel like he’s spilled everything he is to Adam but that doesn’t mean Adam knows mundane things like his phone passcode that hasn’t changed for nearly a decade. He rattles off his code, and then, very studiously ignores Adam opening his texts. 

 

“Most of them are from Matthew,” Adam says after a few moments, “about boxing tomorrow. A couple from Declan. Phone call from Gansey. Some texts from… ‘K’ as well. Babe, has your ass been fuckin’ vibrating all night?” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, rolls his eyes, “yeah,” he admits, then, “I should probably text Matthew back. I forgot about boxing.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, makes to chuck the phone back and Ronan changes his mind. 

 

“Um,” he says, “could you, uh, open the texts from K?”

 

Adam looks at him, then at the phone in his hand, and then shrugs. “Ok,” he says again, “do you want to know what they say?” 

 

“Probably not,” Ronan says, closes his eyes, “I just - if it’s something like - I don’t know. I feel like it’s dumb not to check what shit he’s threatening, but I also don’t want to see it. You don’t have to if you don’t want to though, I know it’s-” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, “it’s fine.” It’s quiet for a few moments then, save for Jane’s fucking chainsaw purring that is, and then Adam sighs. “It’s more of the same,” he says, clears his throat, “would you like your phone back now?” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam leans out of his seat to press the phone against Ronan’s palm, squeezes Ronan’s fingers before drawing back again. 

  
  


-

 

7:52 (pm)

#Hey! I’m going to boxing again tomrrw morning do you wanna come with me??

#We could start a bit later if u do wanna come bt dont wanna get up early?? :) :) :) 

 

8:06

#Ro bro

#u wanna? 

 

9:14

#Bronannnnn i wanna do waffles with uuuuuuuu

 

9:39

#Ro are youstill mad at me? 

#are u ok? 

#i’m really sorry about monday

 

9:44

#i promise nt to do it again :( x

 

9:50

-Matty I’m not mad at you, you have nothing to be sorry about I just overreacted last time it’s fine. I just wasn’t paying attention to my phone. 

-I’m not sure i wanna box tomorrow morning, but I’m keen to get waffles with you after. 

-I promise I’ll start coming to boxing again properly soon i think I just started a bit too quicdk or some shit. 

 

9:52

#Ok!!!!!!!!

#Waffles at like 8 then?????

#im happy so long as ure happy :) :) :) :) :) :) 

 

9:53

-I’ll pick you up from the gym? 

-I got some stuff i wanna tell you too.

-good stuff. 

 

9:54

#????????????

#!!!!!!

#??????????

#I’m so pysched for tomorrow!!!

 

9:55

-Seeya then x

 

9:55

#<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <4

  
  


-

  
  


Declan’s texted him as well, suggesting various times and locations to meet up for lunch tomorrow. It was going to be a very family heavy day. He texts Gansey first to let him know he wouldn’t be home tonight, and then replies to Declan.

  
  


-

  
  


9:59

-Let’s do noon. Bring burgers. 

 

10:01

>Yes your majesty. 

 

10:04

-And whiskey. 

 

10:05

>I think the fuck not. 

>Or maybe whiskey for me. 

>No whiskey for you. 

 

10:06

-Mean. 

 

10:07

>So you’ve been telling me for years. 

  
  


-

  
  


He can’t be bothered putting his phone back in his pocket, so he just drops it on the floor by the bed instead. Both Jane and Adam look up at him. 

 

“You good?” Adam asks. Jane just puts her head back down to keep sleeping.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “just - I won’t go boxing tomorrow. I’m too - I don’t wanna have another fucking public cry just yet. I’m gonna have breakfast with Matty though, and then I’m - ugh - I’m having lunch with Declan so I can do some sort of confession booth style thing with him.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says lightly, “that all sounds quite intense.” 

 

“It’s going to be so shit,” Ronan says sourly to the ceiling. Adam makes a soft comforting noise. Ronan sighs, turns his head to stare at the wall by the bed, at the peeling paint there. “Adam,” he says. 

 

“Mm?” 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, shifts his stare to a glare, “earlier when we were - kissing - and stuff.” 

 

“Mm?” 

 

“I know I was getting - uh - hard,” this really shouldn’t be as difficult to talk about as it was. He should probably be able to do this while actually looking at Adam. He’s been talking about this on and off with Calla but it still wasn’t getting any easier to vocalise. “And like, I was super into it, am super into it, and I wanna do shit like that with you but I don’t think-” he pauses to screw his eyes shut, continues in a rush, “-I don’t want to have sex yet. Sex, sex. Maybe like, fuck, handjobs? Or whatever. That’d be - yeah - I don’t want to actually fuck, or, or, or-” he doesn’t really know what the ‘or’ is for. 

 

He can hear Adam shifting at the desk, the chair creaking abominably underneath him. 

 

“That’s totally fine, Ronan,” Adam says. He’s speaking softly but firmly. “I’m happy with just what we’re doing now, I don’t want to rush into anything. I don’t think I’m ready to have penetrative sex yet with you either.” 

 

“God,” Ronan mumbles, “just say fucking. Penetrative sounds so - ugh.” 

 

Adam snorts at him, the chair creaks again, “Ok babe,” he says, “we’re agreed, let’s not fuck yet, especially as we can’t say penetration without shuddering. You do know that I wasn’t inviting you to sleep over just so I could fuck you, right?” 

 

Ronan huffs, Jane meows reproachfully at him for jolting her with his forced breath. “Yes,” he says, “I didn’t think that - uh -  I just - I wanted to be on the same page. I don’t want any miscommunication or - or vagueness about this.” 

 

“That’s cool,” Adam says, “neither do I. I want us to be totally plain about this.” 

 

Ronan rolls his head on the pillow to finally look at Adam again. Adam is leaning forwards toward the bed, his elbow propped on his knee, head in his hand, expression complex. 

 

“I really like you,” Ronan says, “I really - you’re so fucking good.” 

 

“Ro,” Adam says, “I really - God, fuck, nah,” he says, interrupting himself to rub his hand up from his chin over his face. Ronan stares, stomach plummeting. “God,” Adam says again, “I know it’s really early, but I just, I’m kinda in love with you.” 

 

Ronan stares. His stomach has stopped plummeting but now it doesn’t know how to react. 

 

Adam bites his lips, drops his hand from his face, sits up straight in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says, “if this is too much, or, too soon. I just - I wanted you to know. It’s a lot, so I’m sorry, but-” 

 

“Stop,” Ronan says, and Adam immediately shuts up, closes his mouth, drops his eyes to his knees. “You don’t need to-” Ronan says slowly, “- to qualify how you feel. I - I’m just surprised.” 

 

Adam nods. 

 

“Surprised, and yeah, I guess overwhelmed, and also, fuck I wanna say it back to you-”

 

“I don’t need you to,” Adam says quickly, “I didn’t mean to pressure you into-” 

 

“I wanna say it back to you,” Ronan continues, “because I - I keeping thinking it in my head, it’s just, there’s so much shit in my head right now - I don’t want to say something and have it be a lie.” He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Adam doesn’t look offended. 

 

“I get it,” he replies, shrugs, fiddles with a post-it stuck to his desk drawer. 

 

This could probably have been going better. “It’s not that I don’t think I will love you,” Ronan barrels on, earning a grumble from Jane about all the noise he’s making, “because being fucking completely honest with you? I’m certain that there’s no way I couldn’t love you, it’s just that I’m not sure I’m completely there yet, and-” 

 

“Ro,” Adam says, soft, “babe. If I don’t need to qualify my feelings, neither do you. It’s ok. I get it. I’m not - I’m not mad that you’re not throwing yourself into a love confession.” 

 

“I know you’re not,” Ronan grumbles, “I just want to get to say it to you.” 

 

Adam blushes. 

 

“Well,” he says, “um, we can both be patient, I guess.” 

 

Ronan sighs. “Speaking of,” he says, “have you finished your homework? I am so incredibly in desperate need of touching you right now.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, glances at his laptop, “yeah. I’m done enough. Yeah.” 

 

“Good,” Ronan says, looks down at Jane, “you have to get off,” he says, nudges her gently. She glares at him balefully and leaps off of him after digging her claws into his side in grim farewell. Adam shuts his laptop, stands up, stretches, and then goes to the door to chivvy Jane outside before he steps across to the bed and drops down on the mattress next to Ronan who’s still lying with his head on the pillow. 

 

They’re silent for a moment, hands to themselves as the front door clanks open with the arrival of Blue. They listen to the jingling of keys and removal of shoes, the footsteps to her room, and the door shutting behind her. Then Adam speaks again. 

 

“If this is too much right now you don’t have to stay the ni-” 

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Ronan says, grabs Adam by the elbow and tugs his arm over him, “I’m definitely staying. I want to be here. I want you touching me right now.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, puts away the rest of his caution, and shifts up on his hip to slot his knee between Ronan’s, to press his chest hard against Ronan’s chest, and kisses him. 

 

Ronan just breathes in against him for a moment, then wraps his arms firm around Adam’s waist to pull him harder against him, kisses him back, presses his heels into the mattress and pushes up against him. Adam makes a muffled noise into his mouth, more air than sound, lifts his hands from where they’d been pressing against the pillow on either side of Ronan’s head, and cups his face with a tenderness completely at odds with the way he’s kissing; vigorous and a little sloppy. His thumbs pressing into the hollows beneath Ronan’s eyes, fingers caressing down his cheek, calluses catches on Ronan’s stubble. 

 

It’s difficult to remember to breathe through his nose when he’s kissing Adam. It had been difficult the first time they’d kissed, and it continued to be just as hard. Whether because of the intensity of it or the surprising gentless, Ronan couldn’t say. Either way, he needs a breathing break way too quickly, tips his head to the side to gasp into the pillow, into Adam’s palm. Adam doesn’t stop, just presses his kisses to Ronan’s jaw instead, in the dip under his cheek, along the lines of his throat pulled taut. 

 

“When you said,” Adam whispers against Ronan’s skin, “‘maybe hand jobs’, was that just you trying to soften the ‘no fucking’, or was that you suggesting hand jobs?” 

 

There are many things Ronan still hasn’t worked out about Adam. The main thing currently is how the fuck Adam just says these things so easily, doesn’t have to turn them into rough words to get them out of his mouth, can say them tenderly. 

 

Ronan groans against Adam’s hand, bites at the flesh of the palm, “Suggesting,” he grunts out. He drags one of his hands up from Adam’s waist to press against his spine over the thin material of his shirt, moves the other hand down over denim to (somewhat accidentally) slide his hand into Adam’s back pocket, to squeeze his ass.  

 

“Huh,” Adam replies, shifts up against Ronan so he can drop down to the side and kisses him again, just lightly, his lips brushing against his own palm. “Do you wanna?” 

 

At least he sounds somewhat bashful actually asking this, his voice tilting into a sweeter accent than usual, his words spilling roundly into each other.

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, presses his face harder against Adam’s hand, wants to hide his expression entirely. He knows all his lust and all his anxiety are warring for front and center on his face. He doesn’t resist when Adam pushes back though, tips his head back up to face him, hands cupping his cheeks. 

 

“You feelin’ shy?” Adam asks, shyly, face almost too close to focus on. 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan retorts, “I’m not.” 

 

“I’m nervous about it too,” Adam tells him seriously, “cos I’m worried about it not bein’ good for you.” 

 

He’s saying these very vulnerable words, all the while shifting his hips slowly against Ronan’s, all while Ronan can feel Adam’s cock even through the both of their jeans. It’s unfair. 

 

“Don’t be,” Ronan says scoffs, then speaks more truthfully than he had intended to, “pretty sure anything you do to me would be good.” 

 

Adam snorts, kisses him, pulls back a little. 

 

“How d’you - how d’you wanna do this?” he asks, keeps his hands on Ronan’s face. Ronan wants them travelling down his body, smoothing down over his hips. He wants Adam to just rub up against him until the both of them simply combust. Thinks that if Adam does keep rocking against him he’s definitely going to come in his pants whether or not he wanted it. He does though. He fucking does. He wants it too much. He can’t even begin to tell Adam how he wants it, how many ways he wants it. 

 

“I dunno,” he mumbles eventually, useless, “just - so long as I can see you.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, doesn’t seem to mind that Ronan is useless. He pulls the both of them sideways, dragging Ronan along with him with his legs hooked between Ronan’s until they’re both on their sides, still pressing entirely against each other. He kisses Ronan again, soft, drags his hands down Ronan’s cheeks and down to the front of his shoulders, rubs his thumb along the line of his clavicle under his jumper. “How about like this?” Adam asks against Ronan’s cheek, “I can wrap my hands around the both of us, or I could get you off first-” 

 

“Ngh,” Ronan interrupts coherently, “that,” he says, “I wanna feel you.” He’s so fucking embarrassing. Adam’s barely touching him and he already feels on edge. He’s touching his fucking shoulders. It’s just that it’s Adam’s hands, and Adam’s hands are in the top 3 things that turns Ronan on when he’s by himself in his room. He’s not sure he’ll actually last long enough to get to fully appreciate Adam’s hands actually jerking him off, but he’s sure as hell gonna try. 

 

“Mm,” Adam replies, turns his head enough to start kissing Ronan again as he moves his hands slowly down Ronan’s front, fingers pressing into all the dips and divots of his ribs, a little too hard to be ticklish, just the right amount of pressure to have his breath stutter in time to Adam’s movements. 

 

It’s not that he’s touch starved exactly. He’s always had Gansey around to hold him when he needs it, to fucking lie on top of him when he wants to be grounded. Always had Noah to fiddle with his hair and to drop kisses on his cheeks. Matthew was always a big hugger as well. As had been his mother. This is different. Of course this is different, being touched with intention like this. He feels like he’s never been given this. He feels, as Noah had so eloquently put it, like a baby gay virgin, like he’s been fucking parched and now Adam’s quenching him. He also thinks he’s a complete idiot, thinking in stupid metaphors or some shit, but that’s nothing new. 

 

Adam fumbles quite a bit with his jeans button, which manages to loosen up Ronan’s nerves enough that he laughs, untangles his fingers from the back of Adam’s shirt, and reaches down to undo it himself, and then undoes Adam’s button as well while Adam unzips him. 

 

“Thanks,” Adam says, chuckles, presses a wet kiss to ronan’s jaw, “you good?” 

 

“I’m great,” Ronan says, truth, unzips Adam’s jeans and tugs them by the belt loop until Adam lifts his hips a little (a difficult feat while their legs are still tangled together) and he can tug them down over Adam’s hips. “You good?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam grunts, he’s pulled Ronan’s jeans down now, is palming him through the front of his underwear, pressing his thumb against the steadily damper growing spot on the fabric. “Can I?” 

 

“You’re already holding it,” Ronan snorts, “so yeah, you’re fucking welcome to put your hand into my underwear, in fact please do.” 

 

“Dumbass,” Adam says, tugs at the underwear instead, tugs it down until Ronan’s cock pulls free, almost embarrassingly hard, already leaking. “Fuck,” Adam mumbles, “God you’re so turned on.” 

 

“Fuck up,” Ronan mumbles back, cheeks hot, chest hot, cock fucking hot. He wants Adam to stop looking at start touching. “Are you surprised?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, finally wraps his fingers round Ronan’s cock, brushes his thumb up it, “I already know I’m hot.” 

 

“Asshole,” Ronan hisses, works hard on not immediately jerking his hips against Adam’s touch, “get your fucking cock out too.” 

 

“I don’t have 4 hands,” Adam says calmly, strokes up Ronan’s cock with far too much intention, kisses him softly on the corner of the mouth, “be patient.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan exhales, reaches for the front of Adam’s pants himself, “yeah?” he asks, fingers gripping the top of Adam’s boxers. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, lifts his hips again to assist Ronan, doesn’t let up with his slow careful strokes. 

 

It’s difficult to coordinate his hands and brain while Adam is very efficiently and embarrassingly quickly getting him off, but he manages to take hold of Adam’s cock, to wrap his hand around it and tug it carefully, to get Adam to exhale loudly against the crook of his neck. 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan reiterates, “you’re bigger than I thought you were.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, he’s pressing his forehead hard against Ronan’s jaw, “sorry?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan grunts, his arm is twisted awkwardly around Adam’s, and his wrist is at a quite painful angle, and he needs all his concentration to focus on not coming yet and actually giving Adam a good time. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he adds after a few moments of breathing. 

 

Adam huffs a laugh half hidden in a moan, then pushes up against Ronan’s hand, let’s go of Ronan’s cock, “Lemme,” he says, “I wanna do this.” 

 

“Mmh,” Ronan gets out, releases Adam’s cock with some reluctance. They both have to shift a little. There’s some wordless negotiation, and then some wordy negotiation so that Adam can get his hand properly around their cocks, so that Ronan can grip onto Adam’s shoulders, so that Adam can bite kisses into Ronan’s throat. It’s a bit complicated. Getting into a comfortable position, getting to go slow, getting to kiss while Adam’s hands start to jerk a little wilder, a little less co-ordinated. 

 

Ronan has never had this complicated before. Getting off has always been a physically uncomplicated thing. Hand down the pants. Manhandled into position. Over in minutes. Rinse. Repeat. 

 

He much prefers this complication.

 

He likes this complication. 

 

He loves the feeling of Adam’s breath stuttering against his lips, of Adam’s chest shaking, of Adam coming before him and hissing his name. The memory of Adam's face while he says he's in love with him. That’s complicated too. 

 

Afterwards they have to clean up. Ronan would have been quite happy just lying damp and sticky for a little bit longer so long as it meant that Adam stayed pressed up against him all limp and warm and kissy, but Adam would rather not. This probably makes sense seeing as this is the bed they’re going to have to sleep in tonight, and beds are generally nicer when they don’t stick to you wetly and make vague squelching noises. 

 

They don’t talk much while Adam cleans the bed off, or while they wipe themselves down quickly in the bathroom while praying and crossing their fingers that Blue stays in her room and Noah doesn’t suddenly get home. 

 

It isn’t until they’re climbing into Adam’s bed, light off, Jane sitting on the desk scowling at the both of them for kicking her out earlier, that Adam says; “That was ok, then?” 

 

Ronan snorts, disgruntled, knees Adam. It’s not very effective seeing as their legs are tangled together and the only non vital part that Ronan can reach to knee is just Adam’s legs. 

 

“Don’t be a shit hole,” he says, “it was really good. At least, it was really good for me, it was for you too, right?” he asks quickly, doubt seeping into his voice. Adam laughs at him. 

 

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to laugh, just, yeah. It was good for me.” 

 

“Dunno why you felt the fucking need to ask me if it was good then,” Ronan grumbles, leans forward to knock his forehead against Adam’s. Adam retaliates by tipping his head up and kissing him firmly. Cheating. 

 

“Just checking,” he says, kisses Ronan again. “I haven’t - I don’t have much experience in this.” 

 

“In giving me hand jobs?” Ronan teases, and he knows, rather than sees, that Adam is rolling his eyes. 

 

“In giving hand jobs,” Adam says. 

 

“Thought you’ve had other boyfriends?” Ronan asks, attempting to sound disaffected, but knowing he sounds just as curious as he is, which is a fuckload. He knows very well that he could probably ask about this, but asking about this makes him feel like he looks insecure. Which he would prefer not to be. Not about this. Not with Adam. 

 

“I have,” Adam says, his tone makes it obvious that there is no way he doesn’t know how curious Ronan is. “I dated a guy in first year for a couple of months. We didn’t do anything more than kissing,” he says, “and I dated another guy last year for a bit longer, but uh, he prefered blow jobs, so, yeah, not much experience in hand jobs, and honestly?” he shrugs, “I broke up with him pretty soon after he and I started having sex so not that much experience in anything else either.” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says slowly. He’s feeling a little bit like he’s been doused in cold water, but he’s not sure why yet. “And with girls?” 

 

Adam snorts, “Uh,” he says, his arm is around Ronan’s waist, and he tugs him a little closer, “I dated about 3 girls throughout high school. I didn’t have sex with any of them. I’ve dated, huh, another 3 in uni, I had sex with 2 of them. Is this what you wanted to hear?” 

 

Mostly. 

 

“So,” Ronan says slowly, “did you also break up with them soon after you started having sex with them?” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply for a long moment, and then he says; “Yes.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “were they just not good in bed, or-?” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam sighs, “if you’re- I’m not going to break up with you because we’ve orgasmed together-” 

 

“Well no,” Ronan says, sarcasm biting into his voice, “you’ll wait until after we have, uh, ‘penetrative sex’.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, he sounds a little irritated but mostly hurt, “seriously? I broke up with them because I wanted more than just sex with them. I wanted a relationship.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, he’s slowly rolling onto his side, out of Adam’s arms, “but you couldn’t figure that out until after you’d gotten your dick wet?” 

 

Adam makes a noise that’s mostly frustration. Jane meows anxiously in response. 

 

“No,” he snaps, “God, Ronan, what? I- I wasn’t invested in those relationships. They were like - I liked the people well enough, and so I thought that the relationship would work, but it didn’t,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbow, pulling his arm away from Ronan, “because for me, having sex was a commitment to that person, and i’m a fucking asshole who only realised after fucking that I just wasn’t that commited-” 

 

“You’re really not selling yourself here,” Ronan snarls. He wants to sit up and get out, but his stomach aches and threatens to rebel if he moves, so he settles for wrapping his arms around his waist instead. “Did you tell all of them you loved them beforehand as well?” 

 

“Fuck you,” Adam snaps. He sits up properly now, pushes the blankets off of himself and gets out of the bed. Ronan expects him to leave, to go fume in the kitchen or something, but he doesn’t. He just stands there. “I’ve never said that,” Adam says slowly, “I’ve never said that to anyone. No one. Ever. Fuck, Ronan. It’s only ever been you. You - God, you asshole. Do you even know how weird all of this is for me?” 

 

Ronan rolls further towards the wall, tightens his arms around himself. “No.” he says, “Go on. Tell me how weird being with me is.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Adam says again, but he suddenly sounds less angry. The bed dips as he sits back down. He doesn’t get back under the blankets, just leans against the headboard. “You’re not the weird one here,” he says, “do you - God, ok. Everyone else I’ve dated? I barely spent any time with them. I knew most of them through classes, so I spent most of my time with them at university. I didn’t try and make time outside of them. I fit them in around my work, my study, whatever. I didn’t fucking care enough. I was just - just horny, or lonely, or trying to fucking fit in most of the time. People asked me out and I said yes, when I had the time to. Dating them was never really about what I wanted, it was about what I thought I needed, and I might be fucking - I like to think I’m smart, Ronan. But I’m stupid about what I want, what I can accept wanting, so it took me a fucking whack around the head, or, yeah, fucking them to know that that wasn’t it. So I broke up with them. Because I didn’t want to be lying to them and me. I’m not - fuck. Look. Dating you isn’t convenient for my work and study schedule. It isn’t. I have to change stuff around, I have to cut down on my study, but you know fucking what? I actually want to. I really want to. I spend all week wanting to see you.” He trails off here, his breathing ragged and distraught as if he’d run a race and been beaten in the last second, and Ronan feels like a fucking dumbass asshole. Knows he is. Rolls over. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says to the ceiling. Adam doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” he says again, “I - I shouldn’t have said any of that,” he winces at how pathetic his words are, but carries on anyway, “I do - I do trust you. I know that sounds laughable right now, with how - with how shittily insecure I just sounded, but I do. I just let my fucking fear take over, and I regret it so much, I just - fuck, Adam, fuck I’m sorry.” 

 

He had regretted his vocalised doubt the moment he’d opened his mouth, but he hadn’t been able to persuade his fucking fear induced fury to shut the fuck up. Knows he has to face up to being an asshole. 

 

“Right,” Adam says stiffly, “I know you’re - God, I didn’t tell you any of that shit to like make you feel insecure or whatever, I thought you fucking wanted to know.” 

 

“I did,” Ronan sighs, “I do, even, it’s just - Christ, I don’t know, Adam.” 

 

“As far as I’m concerned,” Adam says, still stiff, “my relationship with you is on such a different level to any other relationship I’ve ever had they don’t even - you can’t even actually compare them.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, blinks furiously at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“Why?” Adam asks, “Are you sorry because you don’t want me to be upset at you, or-?” 

 

Ronan supposes he probably deserves that. “No,” he says, as clearly as he can through the fire in his throat, “no. I’m sorry because I want from fucking 0 to 100 in half a second and I didn’t bother to acknowledge to you or me that I was scared about anything, and I’m sorry because I know you did nothing wrong, and I should have talked to you about this rather than exploding, and I’m sorry because I - because I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry because I don’t want to - to hurt you, and I’m-” 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, cuts in to Ronan’s quickly crumbling monologue, “hey, ok, ok. You did hurt me. You should have told me something was up. We should have talked it out. We can now. It’s ok. I’m - I’m still - I’m still kinda pissed, but I wanna talk this out. I don’t want this to - I want us to work this out without taking a break to be bitter at each other about it.” 

 

Ronan has to close his eyes before he can nod. “Ok,” he says. 

 

“Right,” Adam says, his voice is still a little brittle, but he sounds more open, sounds more Adam, “so, what was that? What were you scared about?” 

 

Ronan snorts a little. Adam sighs. 

 

“Right,” he says again, “yeah I got that you’re scared that I was going to break up with you right after having sex, but that - that wasn’t all of it. So, what were you scared about?” 

 

Ronan has to actually think about this. 

 

“I think,” he mumbles, “I think it’s just - you know,” he says, “how I told you I’ve never dated anyone before. Ever. That you’re my first ever boyfriend.” 

 

“Yes,” Adam says. 

 

“But that I’ve - well obviously that I’ve had sex before. You’ve seen the, uh, the photos.” 

 

“Yes,” Adam says. 

 

“I’ve only ever done that shit with Kavinsky,” Ronan says, has to speak slowly so he can keep himself coherent, “I’ve only ever - only ever with him. He’s been - he’s been a lot of my firsts. And it meant, uh, it meant that-” he cuts himself off to swear, then to swear again, then to jump a little when Adam’s hand comes to rest lightly against his shoulder. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “take your time.” 

 

“I’ve already spent a whole fucking year taking my time,” Ronan grumbles, lifts his hand up to cover Adam’s on his shoulder. Needs to hold onto him to convince himself that he isn’t going to go. “Sex with him was throwaway violence,” he continues, voice louder than he intends it, “it wasn’t - it wasn’t commitment or - it wasn’t. It was a means to an end. It was a way to - to mark ownership. It was avoidance. It was - he had a lot of fuck buddies. But he liked me the most because I was the - the most broken, or, or, or maybe because I’d only ever been touched by him,” he’s saying a lot more here than he meant to as well, “and so, he - he always used to tell me that I wasn’t such a great lay, that he’d find someone else, that he wouldn’t be interested in me if I let someone else fu- ugh. I don’t give a fuck about not being his. I did then. A bit. Because it meant I wouldn’t get the attention, the- fuck -” He has to pause here again because he’s been talking too quickly, exhaling and exhaling and exhaling and not inhaling and now he’s choking on his empty lungs. Nothing is coming out right.

 

“Shh,” Adam is saying, is rubbing his shoulders, “just breathe, baby,” he mumbles, “it’s ok. You’re fine.” 

 

He breathes as well as he can. Focuses on Adam’s hands hard on his skin, focuses on the fact that Adam didn’t storm off and leave him. 

 

“Ok, so,” Adam says, quiet, “the way I talked about - about my previous sexual encounters came off as similar to Kavinsky’s... sex habits? And that invoked a flight or fight mode in you or something? Is that kinda close?” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan mumbles, still needs to just breathe for a while. Adam brushes his hand gently across his forehead, then under his eyes. 

 

“I love you,” Adam says then, “I don’t want to be with anyone else but you.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. 

 

“You’re not broken,” Adam continues, “and you’re not...tainted because of your history with Kavinsky. And also? You’re great in bed. So, there’s that too.” 

 

Ronan snorts, it comes out a little bit like a sob. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, Adam shakes his head but Ronan persists, “I know you’re nothing like K,” Ronan says, “I know that. I knew that. I know I have no reason to be scared that you’d - I just - I don’t know how to say this without it sounding like an excuse - it’s just that I’ve never - had something like this without it being - without - God.” 

 

“It’s not an excuse,” Adam says, “it’s an explanation. And - thank you for telling me.” 

 

“I think,” Ronan says, sighs heavily, “there’s a lot of shit I should really tell you. If you want to hear it. You don’t have to hear it though, y’know, I have a therapist for a reason.” 

 

“I want to hear it,” Adam says, “I want to hear whatever you want to tell me.” 

 

“You really shouldn’t be doing law,” Ronan yawns, “you’re much more suited to therapy.” 

 

Adam snorts, “Nah,”  he says, “I shouldn’t be doing law, yeah, but I’m too pissy to do therapy.” 

 

“You’re not being pissy with me,” Ronan points out. 

 

“That’s because I like you too much,” Adam shrugs, “I don’t think most of my clients would have the advantage of me being in love with them.” 

 

Everytime Adam says the word ‘love’ Ronan’s heart slams in hard in the ribs, his face heats up. “God,” he mumbles, means to say something more, but can’t work it out. 

 

“But,” Adam continues, leans in to kiss Ronan lightly on the cheek, “you’re exhausted, so, do you want to talk more now, or do you want to talk later?” 

 

“Do you need to sleep now?” Ronan asks, and Adam raises his eyebrows. 

 

“I’m asking what you want,” he replies, which is really an answer in itself, and Ronan sighs. 

 

He doesn’t want to have to tell Adam anything, but also he can feel all of it on the tip of his tongue. He wants Adam to hold him while he spills out all about how he hadn’t even wanted to have sex before marriage, or, before a serious commitment. How dirty he had felt the first time. How he had wanted to feel dirty. How he was so scared that even though most of the time he hadn’t wanted any of it, that the fact that there were a (very) few times in which he had which would void the rest. How he was so scared that maybe he’d deserved to be held down and hurt and raped because he had wanted it in the first place. 

 

He doesn’t want to freak Adam out. 

 

He knows he’s already freaked Adam out. 

 

He wants Adam to just hold him. 

 

“I’m not tired,” Adam tells him, “and I can handle whatever it is you want to talk about. If I can’t, I’ll tell you. Ok? I promise.” 

 

Ronan wants to tell him about how he had been kissed up til Adam. About how he doesn’t even think he can qualify what Kavinsky did to him as kissing now he’s had Adam. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “but if you need a therapist after this, promise you won’t hold it against me?” 

 

“I probably need a therapist anyway,” Adam says, lets Ronan shuffle down so he can press himself up against Adam, “but yeah, I promise.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They’re both a little ridiculously tired the next morning. They hadn’t stayed up too late, but it’s exhausting work sorting through emotions, spilling yourself bare, all that uncomfortable shit. 

 

They start their day huddled together at the kitchen table, blearily drinking coffee while Blue sits opposite them with a fruit tea and a yogurt, eying them up suspiciously. 

 

“You both look weird,” she tells them eventually, dumping her teabag wetly on the tabletop, “what’s going on?” 

 

“Nothing,” Ronan grumbles, shuffles impossibly closer to Adam. Impossible because their chairs are already pushed up against each other, their shoulders already flush to each other. 

 

Blue stares at them for a moment longer, lips pursed, eyebrows together, and thens he snorts. “You’re wearing each other’s clothes,” she says, amusement spilling out of here, “oh my Goddess, who would have thought the both of you would be such sops?” 

 

Ronan flushes but Adam appears unaffected. He shrugs. He’s just wearing Ronan’s tank top and jeans, but Ronan supposed it is a different look for him. He looks slicker in all black, harder. Ronan guesses he must look kinda different too, wearing Adam’s sweat pants and jumper, but surely not that different. Blue is still laughing at them, snorting into her tea mug. 

 

“Not like I haven’t seen you wandering around in Gansey’s clothes,” Ronan says grumpily, “so I don’t know what’s so fucking funny.” 

 

“It’s funny,” Blue says lightly, “because you always act like your punk ass clothes are half your personality and I don’t think I’ve seen you in actual colour like, ever.” 

 

“Hey!” Ronan objects, “I wear Gansey’s shit sometimes, that has colour.” 

 

“Eh,” Blue says, shrugs, “anyway, you look good in it. Plus it’s cute.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, “Parrish, tell her to fuck off.” 

 

Adam drinks his coffee calmly, wraps his arm around Ronan’s waist and squeezes him. 

 

“I think you look cute too,” he says. Ronan scowls. 

  
  


-

  
  


He drops Adam off at work, considers staying in town for the remaining hour before he’s meant to be meeting up with Matthew and then drives home because he very much wants to wake Gansey up. He thinks he needs a little time to decompress before he meets up with Matthew, otherwise he’s just going to be a ball of ‘what the fuck’ for the entire breakfast. Gansey is still very fast asleep when he gets in, which Ronan appreciates because it means he gets to wake him up by dropping himself down on top of him on the bed. 

 

“What the fuck,” Gansey moans after Ronan’s rolled off of him and Gansey’s more thoroughly awake than he had been asleep. “What’ve I ever done to you that you feel the need to terrify me awake?” 

 

“One time when we were younger you drank my juice box,” Ronan says from beside him, “I’ve never really gotten over that.” 

 

Gansey stares at him. Sighs heavily.  “That was my juice box,” he says, “you know it was.” 

 

Ronan makes a face, then rolls over onto his stomach, buries his head under one of Gansey’s many pillows. 

 

“I think I love Adam,” he says into the mattress. 

 

“Excuse me?” Gansey asks, “I don’t speak mumblese.” 

 

“I said,” Ronan grunts, making his voice louder but not bothering to pull away from the bedding his face is pressed against, “I think I love Adam.” 

 

Gansey is quiet for a long moment, and then he pulls off the pillow from Ronan’s head. 

 

“Ok?” he says, he sounds a little confused. Blessedly doesn't mention the fact that they've not even been together a month yet. 

 

“And,” Ronan continues, voice getting louder still, not out of necessity but adrenaline this time. “He told me he loves me.” 

 

“Huh,” Gansey says, “Ro, that’s - I’m glad for you 2-” 

 

“And-” Ronan continues, voice still rising, “-then he gave me a handjob.” 

 

“Um,” Gansey says, “uh. Hm. Good? Or- how’re you feeling about-” 

 

“And then!” Ronan all but yells into the mattress, “I picked a fucking dumbass argument with him and freaked the both of us out.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, presses his hand against Ronan’s shoulders, “oh dear. But you worked it out yeah? Seeing as you stayed the night?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan sighs, “and then we fucking - we fucking talked about our - fuck - our feelings and my shitting fucking sexual bloody trauma, and - fuck - he still said he loved me after all that.” 

 

“Wow,” Gansey says. Pats Ronan absent-mindedly. “This is a lot to take in so early in the morning, Ronan.” 

 

“I’ll make you coffee,” Ronan offers, pushes himself up on his hands and knees and climbs off of the bed quickly. Gansey catches his elbow before he can leave. 

 

“Why are you upset?” he asks, “It sounds like it worked out ok?” 

 

“It did,” Ronan grumbles, doesn’t bother pulling against Gansey’s grip. If he tried to escape Gansey would let him and he doesn’t want that. “I’m not upset.” 

 

Gansey tugs him back until he sits back down on the bed. “This feels like a stupid thing for you to lie about.” 

 

“I’m not upset,” Ronan reiterates caustically, sighs, leans back against Gansey’s legs, “I’m - I’m really happy that he’s - that I’m - it’s just overwhelming. It doesn’t feel real.” 

 

“Which part?” Gansey asks, yawns. 

 

Ronan has to take a few moments to compose his answer. He feels like he’s just a bundle of non-corresponding nerves and emotions right now, not very much is settling into a proper position. 

 

“The - love in relation to sex,” he says eventually. “I mean. It’s stupid. It’s what I’ve - it’s what I’ve wanted this whole time, but now it just doesn’t fit together in my head.” 

 

“Ah,” Gansey says slowly. He knows all about this, of course, Ronan had spent a lot of their later teenage years talking about it, back when he’d been a little more vocal and a little less traumatised. 

 

“And I’ve - I said that to Adam last night,” Ronan sighs, “when we talked about it all. It’s - he gets it, but, I’m not sure I get it.” 

 

“Neither am I,” Gansey says, “but I think I kind of do. It’s difficult to see sex as anything to do with romance when you’ve never had it that way before-” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan groans, drops himself backwards across Gansey’s legs, “hearing it aloud just sounds fucked up.” 

 

“It is fucked up,” Gansey says plainly, “that’s fine.” 

 

Ronan rolls his eyes, and Gansey sighs, clarifies. 

 

“It’s not fine that you’ve been - been conditioned like this, but it isn’t your fault.” 

 

“Thanks,” Ronan says, “how much do I owe you for your words of wisdom?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Gansey scoffs, shoves his shoulder, “you want me to say this shit, otherwise you wouldn’t be here trapping my legs.” 

 

“Fine,” Ronan sneers, then, “I don’t know what to do about it.” 

 

“Well talking about it is a good first step, I suppose,” Gansey starts, and Ronan sighs loudly to cut him off. 

 

“I know,” Ronan says, “it’s just, I’m bored of things being fucking hard. It’s not fucking fair.” 

 

“It isn’t,” Gansey agrees, “are you going to make me coffee?” 

  
  


\- 

  
  


Matthew is waiting outside the gym when he gets there, tapping on his phone, very obviously engrossed in some rather violent sounding phone game. It turns out to be some weird coral reef game which turns out to be the opposite of violent but has a fuck load of tapping. Matthew shows him all the coral he’s patiently grown, very proud. 

 

They go to Matthew’s favourite waffle haunt, which turns out to be a rather greasy looking place with a very sweet front of house who Matthew blushes at just the sight of. 

 

“Ok,” Matthew says once they’re seated in a scuffed up booth, waffles ordered, coffee on its way, “what’s this good news? And what’s with the jumper? That isn’t one of Gansey’s, is it?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, fiddles with the dog eared menu, “can you imagine? It’s much too big for him.” 

 

“It’s too big for you too,” Matthew points out. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan grins, “uh, ok so,” he has to pause because his stomach is suddenly all butterflies about this, which is stupid, because this is Matthew and Matthew will just be happy and excited about all of this. 

 

“Ok so?” Matthew prompts. 

 

“I’ve started dating this guy,” Ronan says all in a hurry, “a really nice guy. A - he’s fucking amazing, Matty, I - I’ve really lucked out.” 

 

“Oh!” Matthew exclaims, “Oh my God! That’s so great, Ro! What’s he like? What does he do? What’s his name? Where did you guys meet?” 

 

“God,” Ronan scoffs, “this isn’t an interrogation, chill out.” 

 

“I’ll chill out once you answer my questions!” Matthew replies, “What does he look like? What does he sound like? Has he met Gansey?” 

 

“Ok, ok, ok,” Ronan laughs, holds his hands up, “his name’s Adam, he’s studying to be a lawyer, he’s like, indecently smart. He’s Blue and Noah’s new flatmate, so yeah, he met Gansey before he met me. He looks like - he looks and sounds like a fucking - a fucking sun god.” 

 

Matthew snorts. 

 

“Wow,” he says, grins widely, “you’re in deep already, man, how long have you guys been together? Without telling me?” 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, “we - uh - went on our first official date 12 days ago.” 

 

“Oh,” Matthew says, “not very long then. He must be pretty fucking awesome for you to be so excited then!” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, coughs awkwardly, “he is.” 

 

Their coffees arrive, or rather, their coffee frappes with extra cream arrive, and Matthew drinks half of his before saying; “He’s not - he’s nothing like - He doesn’t do drugs, right? Adam?” 

 

Ronan stares down into the cream top of his drink. 

 

“No,” he says firmly, lifts his head so he can make eye contact with Matthew, “no he doesn’t. He never has, never will. He’s too - that’s not his scene. Listen, Matty,” he says, clears his throat, “that’s not my scene either. Not anymore. I’m not - I’m not doing any of that shit. Not again. Not ever,” he says, clears his throat again, “all that - all the drinking, and the drugs, and the driving, and - and - and all that. That’s not happening again. I promise. I know I’ve fucked up a lot, but it’s over.” 

 

Matthew nods a little, then drops his gaze to swirl the cream into his drink. “Because of this guy?” he asks quietly. 

 

“No,” Ronan sighs, “nah, Matty. I was done before Adam. He’s - he’s really helping me, yeah, he’s been so…. Good about it all. But this is a thing I’m doing, so like, I know you’re sitting there having a quiet freak out that I’ll break up with Adam and then fall back into doing my fucked up shit, but this is separate from Adam. I want to be better. I want to be ok. I want Adam, but I want to be ok with or without him.” 

 

Matthew grabs at his hand across the table, clutches onto him hard. “Ro,” he says, much more serious than Ronan is used to hearing him, “I’ve missed you so much, y’know.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t bother trying to feign ignorance of what Matthew means, doesn’t bother saying that they’ve seen it each other recently, or he hasn’t gone anywhere, or any of that shit. He knows he’s been absent. If not physically, than mentally. Knows that’s been hard on Matthew. 

 

“I’ve missed you too,” Ronan mumbles, “I’m sorry I’ve not been - not been here for you much lately.” 

 

“You’ve been there when I’ve needed you,” Matthew objects, doesn’t let go of Ronan’s hand, “and, it’s not like I blame you for any of that, it’s just- just that I missed you.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says to the table, “listen, Matty, y’know I’m not just gonna - this is gonna take time for me to get back to normal. Or like, new normal or whatever. I’m not just gonna be automatically ok. I’m working on it, but I still have - I still have a fuck load of a way to go.” 

 

“Yeah,” Matthew says, “I get that. I’m just happy.” 

 

“Me too,” Ronan admits, even grins a little, “and,” he adds, “I’ll make sure you get to meet Adam soon.” 

 

“Oh thank God,” Matthew exclaims, “I’m so fucking pumped about meeting him! I have so many embarrassing stories to tell him about you.” 

 

“Language,” Ronan chides, grins wider, “Ah-hah, here come our waffles.” 

  
  


-

  
  


The  best thing about breakfast with Matthew was that Ronan felt ridiculously buoyant afterwards. Matthew was happy, Matthew was excited about Adam, Matthew loved him even through his fuck ups and asshole behaviours. The worst thing about breakfast with Matthew was that now Ronan was going home to have lunch with Declan, and the worst time to see Declan was after spending time with Matthew, because then the contrast between his 2 brothers was at an all time high, and it made Ronan resent Declan more. This was unfair to Declan. Ronan knows this. He’s only really noticed he does it recently, but ever since he had, it had been preying on the edge of his mind, how he puts his brothers next to each other in his head and shaves Declan down until he’s Matthew’s size, and then only finds him lacking. He really is the worst kind of asshole. Somehow Declan still wants to see him though, despite knowing how Ronan cuts him down in his own head. 

 

Lunch wouldn’t be for another few hours, so he had until now and then to kill, and no one to spend it with. Until recently, he wouldn’t have cared about being alone, or, he would have, but he would have found it added to his general despondency in a comforting way. Now that he was actively attempting to push against just spending his days lying on his bed with his brain too blurry to even focus on how miserable he was, it was difficult to spend time with just himself. He went home, wished Gansey didn’t have to study, wished he didn’t wish that. 

  
  


-

  
  


Wednesday 

10:08 (am)

-Are you at home? Will you send me pictures of Jane? 

 

10:12

+Funnily enough I’m actually in class foro nce.

+luckily for you i’m a responsible cat flatmate and i have dlike 5million pictures of my sweet snuggle princess on my phone for times such as this

+(image attached)

+(image attached)

+(image attached)

 

10:13

-Noah you are a true friend. 

 

10:14

+i know xxxxxx

+(image attached)

+(image attached)

 

10:15

-I’d be lost without you. 

 

10:16

+bb you’d be up shitcreak without a paddle. upside down in an escher painting without a paintbrush. somewhere on mars without a spacesuit. 

 

10:17

-Have I also mentioned how you’re my most modest friend?

 

10:18

+xxxxxxxxxxx

+you’re so sweet to me ro-ro 

 

10:19

->:( 

-more cat

 

10:20

+(image attached)

+(image attached)

+(image attached) 

  
  


-

  
  


Declan arrives 10 minutes early. He has a habit of doing that. He brings burgers, fries, thick shakes, a mini bottle of whiskey, and a very wary expression. 

 

“The whiskey is for emergencies,” he says in greeting when Ronan answers the door. 

 

“Emergencies such as thick shakes taste better with whiskey in?” Ronan asks, eying the bags Declan’s clutching white knuckled. 

 

“We’ll see,” Declan allows, makes his own way into the house, into the kitchen. “Is Gansey home?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, following Declan after he shuts the front door, “he’s at uni.” 

 

Declan looks at him as if to say, ‘like you ought to be’, but keeps his mouth shut, and puts the bags of food down on the counter. 

 

“Ronan hesitates in the kitchen doorway a moment, then slinks past Declan and drops himself down heavily on a counter stool, props himself up on his elbows at the counter, stares at the burger bag until Declan unpacks it and hands his burger over. 

 

“Have you been eating properly?” Declan asks, glancing around the kitchen as he sits down on the stool furthest from Ronan. That means there’s only one stool between them, which is closer than they would normally choose, but still. 

 

“I had waffles with Matthew this morning,” Ronan grumbles, mouth already round the burger, “and biryani last night.” 

 

They both know this isn’t a proper answer, but Declan doesn’t seem in the mood for pushing, because he just nods, and bites into his own burger. They chew in silence for a few long moments, and then Declan pushes the fries over to Ronan, and Ronan sighs and puts his burger down. 

 

“I have a boyfriend,” he says flatly, figures he might as well start where it’s easiest, “his name is Adam and I really like him. Gansey and Noah like him too.” 

 

Declan just stares at him for a moment, keeps eating his burger. 

 

“I told Matthew this morning,” Ronan continues, picks at the fries, “so I thought I should tell you too.” 

 

“Thanks,” Declan says, “when do I get to him meet him?” 

 

Ronan grunts, tears a few fries in half. “I dunno,” he says. 

 

“Ok,” Declan says, “stop mutilating the fries, Ronan, they’re for us to share.” 

 

Ronan scowls, shoves the ripped fries into his mouth. 

 

“I’m really glad to hear you’re … with someone you like,” Declan says slowly, “but that isn’t what I’m here to talk about, is it?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “but we could pretend it is.” 

 

“No we can’t,” Declan says flatly, “you can’t distract me that easily, Ronan.” 

 

Ronan sighs. Declan pushes over his thickshake. 

 

“It’d be easier with whiskey,” Ronan suggests hopefully, and Declan scowls. 

 

“I’ll decide when we need the emergency whiskey,” he says, “pease, Ronan, just - I don’t want to have to hear this anymore than you want to say it.” 

 

“You don’t have to fucking listen to it then,” Ronan snaps, “you can leave if you like.” 

 

Declan just stares at him blankly, takes a long rattling drink of his shake. 

 

“I’m pretty sure this is harder for me than it is for you, actually,” Ronan continues, still snapping. Declan continues to stare blankly. “You never had to live it,” Ronan adds viciously, and Declan sighs. 

 

“No,” he says, “because you wouldn’t let me. I would have fucking been right there with you if you’d let me, Ronan. Instead, I got to live it from the sidelines. Do you have any idea how awful it is hearing a siren in the middle of the night and having your first thought be of your brother fucking crushed on the highway?” 

 

Funnily enough, no. Ronan has no idea. He stuffs another handful of fries into his mouth. Declan uncaps the whiskey. Pours a shot into his own thickshake, caps it again, stirs it and takes a drink. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says once his mouth is finally empty of salt and potato, has to work very hard to resist stuffing it again so he can’t speak, “I need your help.” 

 

“I know that,” Declan says, irritatingly. He’s not looking at Ronan. Ronan swallows his irritation down. 

 

“I had sex with Kavinsky 3- no, 4 times-” Ronan starts, and Declan interrupts. 

 

“The fuck,” he says, “I don’t want to hear thi-” 

 

“Of my own fucking volition,” Ronan continues, louder than Declan. “4 times. We had sex 4 times. Every other time? And - fuck - there were a lot of other times - I didn’t want it. He knew that. I know he has no photos of the times we had actual sex, because I was properly conscious for that. Everything you’ve - everything he’s sent me photos of. That wasn’t sex.” 

 

He’s had a while to think about this. Truthfully he’s had over a year to think about this, but he hasn’t, not properly, not on purpose, not until Calla had sat down with him and asked him to define what sex was. He’d scoffed at her, made a rude gesture. She’d rolled her eyes at him, told him he wasn’t a child but she wasn’t against sending him to his room if he wasn’t going to use his words (no matter that his room was in a different house). He had sighed heavily, slumped down in his chair and said in a monotone that sex was generally thought of as a dick going into a hole. Calla had rolled her eyes, asked if there was any point in him being gay if he was going to give her such heteronormative answers. Ronan had stuck his tongue out, suggested that sex was 2 or more people getting together for consensual orgasms. Calla had shrugged and said that would do, and then she had narrowed her eyes at him and asked if it was still sex if the orgasm wasn’t consensual and Ronan had narrowed his eyes back and said that there had still been a dick in a hole and Calla had made an exceedingly frustrated noise and swore very loudly in a different language. Ronan had grunted, slumped further down in the chair, said that maybe it wasn’t. 

 

Calla is very good at poking him into settling down thoughts in his head. In opening up boxes he’d shoved under the floorboards of his mind. In digging through the junk and figuring out what was salvageable. It had still taken him a long time to come to the, tentative, consensus with himself that what Kavinsky had been doing with him wasn’t really sex. That it couldn’t have been sex if he hadn’t wanted sex. He hopes this is a thing Declan already knows, because he doesn’t want to have to explain it out to him, and he doesn’t want to trawl through the internet to find that post that likens rape to tea you don’t want. 

 

“I know,” Declan says, “pretty sure you’re meant to be fucking awake and saying yes while having sex. So. You want me to fuck him up?” 

 

“No,” Ronan grumbles, “no. Just. Kinda. But not like - how likely is it, do you think, that a court would believe me when I say that he’s been raping, stalking, and threatening me?” 

 

Declan just looks at him a moment. Ronan supposes if the words had tasted like milk gone bad in his mouth, it had probably felt that way in Declan’s ears as well. 

 

“Keeping in mind,” Ronan continues, “that I have prior drug abuse convictions, and have been caught by the police with Kavinsky previously.” 

 

“These photographs make a pretty compelling argument,” Declan says flatly. He’s pushed into his polished politician voice, obviously it’s too difficult to just be Declan (opposed to Declan Lynch) currently. “I think our main issue would be the fact that it’s taken you so long to come in. We don’t have any fresh evidence. The case would be a lot more black and white if you had gone to the police or the hospital after one of these attacks-” 

 

“I know,” Ronan grits out, hates hearing this, “what do you want me to fucking do about that? Go let Kavinsky fucking rape me again so I can give some lawyer his fucking sperm sample?” 

 

“Fuck off, Ronan,” Declan hisses, takes a larger gulp of his spiked shake, “God no. If you have any serious ideas about doing that, get rid of them now. That’s not happening. I will not let you do that.” 

 

Ronan wants to say that Declan can’t stop him from doing anything. He keeps his mouth shut, and instead hands over his phone. 

 

“What?” Declan asks, wipes his salty hand on Ronan’s shirt before taking the phone. 

 

“I have all the texts he’s ever sent me on there,” Ronan says blandly while Declan unlocks his phone, “threats, promises, photos.” 

 

Declan winces as he thumbs into Ronan’s messages, winces more as he opens Kavinsky’s texts. Actually shudders as he scrolls up them, but doesn’t stop scrolling. Keeps going up, eyes flitting over messages and photos, face contorting. Ronan shoves the rest of his burger into his mouth. His mouth isn’t exactly big enough for it, so about half of it is out of his mouth, but he’s determined to finish it in this ‘mouthful’. 

 

“Why now?” Declan asks, long minutes later. Ronan is finished his burger, is moving in on the fries again. “You’ve been resisting my help, getting help at all, for - hah - well most of your life.” 

 

“Because,” Ronan grunts, “I-” he sighs, drops his head down to rest his forehead against the crumby counter, “I wasn’t going to,” he admits, “I didn’t want to. I was just going to tell you what’s been happening, and then continue being a fucked up asshole who doesn’t want to - doesn’t want to risk my fucking pride.” 

 

“So?” Declan prompts, picks his thick shake up as Ronan’s attempts to sneakily take it. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “I told Matthew I was done with being a fuck up today, and I - I just. It’s true. I mean. I’m gonna fuck up still, but, I don't want to. I don’t want to hurt him anymore.” 

 

Declan doesn’t say anything. Ronan wonders if he’s wishing that Ronan had said he didn’t want to hurt Declan anymore as well. If he was jealous about this. If maybe Ronan should say that as well, because it was true, even if it hadn’t been as pivotal in his thoughts as seeing Matthew’s desperate face.

 

“You realise,” Declan says eventually, he’s scrolling back down through Kavinsky’s messages, “that you’re going to not only have to co-operate with me on this, you’re going to have to talk to professionals. You can’t just hide in your room while this happens. You need to be involved.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan snaps, sighs, “I know.” 

 

“So you’re invested?” Declan asks, “Because I am. If you want this, Ronan, I’m going to fucking make sure that bastard never gets the fuck out of jail.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, flinches a little as Declan’s hand suddenly grips his shoulder. 

 

“God you asshole,” Declan says, and his voice is suddenly raw. He’s lost his professional tone entirely, his fingers gripping Ronan’s shoulder tightly are trembling. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says to the counter, can’t bear to face Declan while saying it. 

 

“Well fucking good,” Declan says, “you know how many grey hairs I’ve had because of you? I legitimately dye my hair now, y’know that?” 

 

“Old fart,” Ronan mumbles, and Declan chokes out a laugh. 

 

“I’m only a year older than you,” he says, then, “I can get us an appointment with the family lawyer today. Let’s start this ASAP.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. If this was Matthew, this would be the point (or one of the points) in which they would hug, but Ronan can’t remember the last time he’s properly hugged Declan. “I don’t - you’ll stay with me, yeah?” 

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Declan snorts, “of course I will.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says again. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; Discussion of previous suicide attempt

Wednesday   
3:05 (pm)  
-I told my brothers about us

3:13  
~That’s great Ro xxx Did they take it well?

3:20  
-They both want to meet you asap. Matty is very excited

3:22  
~Well I’m happy to meet them x

3:24  
-Also, don’t freak out, but I’m at my lawyers with Declan working on reoprting Kavinsky. 

3:25  
~babe  
~I’m so proud of you  
~are you ok?  
~do you want me there?

3:32  
-I’m ok  
-Gansey’s here. 

3:35  
~Ok  
~xxx  
~Let me know if you change your mind. Or if you need anything. Ok? 

3:38  
-Yes

3:39  
~xxx

 

-

 

5:02  
-When I said that Gansey was here I didn’t mean that because he was here I don’t need you, I meant that you don’t need to worry about me being alone because I’m not, and I would have loved ou to be here with me but i knew you wer in class and I didn’t want to disrupt your day too much.

5:12  
~Baby I honestly did not think that at all.   
~And even if I did? I wouldn’t be mad about it, you’re allowed to want youroldest and best friend with you rather than your boyfriend. 

5:14  
-I just don’t want you to think you have naything to be jealous of. 

5:15  
~I know x  
~How are you doing? 

5:16  
-I hate every aspect of this entire process and I want to go the fuck ohome. 

5:17  
~Can you go home soon? 

5:18  
-Not to the home i want.   
-and also no, not for another hour or more I think.   
-there’s just…….. A fucking lot. 

5:19  
~:(   
~I love you 

5:32  
-You know whats’ fucking dumb 

5:35  
~?

5:38  
-That I fuciking miss you already and it’s not even been a full day since i saw you. 

5:40  
~That’s not dumb.   
~I miss you too. 

5:42  
-It’s kinda fucking dumb. 

5:45  
~If yiu want, I can come round to yours after work. 

5:47  
-What, at like 11pm?

5:50  
~Yeah. I don’t have to. 

5:52  
-I want you to. 

5:52  
~Ok I will then.   
~babe i’m relaly sorry but ive gotta stop tetxing for a bit now, there’s a rush at work x

-

 

8:12  
-I’m going home now. With whiskey. 

8:20  
~And Gansey too, I hope. 

8:21  
-yeah. 

8:22  
~You ok? 

8:25  
-Nah.   
-I will be  
-Probably 

8:30  
~I could get off work earlier if you want?

8:39  
-you could get me off

8:42  
~Yeah I guess I could. If you want. 

9:01  
-Nah  
-just  
-come round afte r work

9:02  
~Ok. Be safe, yeah? 

9:04  
-i’m always safe

-

 

11:03  
-I’m just going to catch the bus to yours now, babe. Hope you’re doing ok x

11:05  
~Hi Adam, Gansey here, Ronan’s fine, he’s just throwing up right now. I’ll try and shower him before you get here. 

 

-

 

“What the fuck’s the point of tellin’im that,” Ronan grumbles from where he’s slung over the toilet, “oh, ‘Ron’n’s fine, he’s jus’ throwin’ up’. Tha’s fuckin’ contra- uh -dick-hahaha-tary.”

“God,” Gansey groans in response, puts Ronan’s phone back onto the sink counter and crosses over the room to crouch down next to Ronan’s legs again, “I told you drinking was a bad idea.” 

“Dec fuckin’ gave me th’ drink,” Ronan retorts angrily, takes a quick break from attempting to make his point to throw up a bit more. Keeps speaking hoarsely into the toilet bowl, voice echoing wetly “Needed t’ fuckin’ throw up anyway.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gansey sighs, presses his hand to the small of Ronan’s back and rubs firmly, “think you have any left to vomit?” 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, retches dryly, “I dunno.” 

“Probably want to be finished by the time Adam gets here, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan sniffs, eyes dripping as he dry retches again, “ugh, fuck.” 

“You’re ok,” Gansey says, “you’ll start feeling better soon.” 

“Sure I will,” Ronan says, laughs a little which ends up in another dry retch, then in a short bout of vomiting. He coughs, spits, says; “What if there is no feeling better from this?” 

“There is,” Gansey says firmly, “I know there is, because you have been feeling better lately.” 

“Right,” Ronan says, “but only for moments at a time.” 

“So?” Gansey says, keeps rubbing Ronan’s back while reaching up with his other arm to lift Ronan’s head a little out of the toilet bowl. “Getting better takes time. You know this. It’s ok to be going slowly. Move your head up, I’m going to flush the toilet.” 

“‘M not done with it yet,” Ronan protests, lifts his head anyway. Gansey flushes the toilet, and Ronan drops his head back down to press his cheek to the toilet seat. 

“It stank,” Gansey says flatly, “and was probably making you feel more nauseous than necessary. How are you feeling after that last vomit?” 

“Disgusting.” Ronan says, “Awful. Horrible. Revolting.” 

“All good words,” Gansey sighs, rubs his palm over the top of Ronan’s head. “Want a shower now?” 

“Yes,” he says, doesn’t make a move to shift from his position half in the toilet.

“Anytime, then,” Gansey says lightly. He sounds a little frustrated, but only a little, and his hand is still rubbing down Ronan’s back soothingly so it’s fine. “Maybe Adam could help you out,” Gansey says, and Ronan’s back stiffens under his hand. 

“No,” he says firmly. 

“No?” Gansey asks, “Why no?” 

“Because,” Ronan rasps, lifts his head out of the toilet and stares blearily at Gansey, “I don’t want him to have to look after me.” 

Gansey just looks back at him for a few moments, and then shrugs, “Ok,” he says, “c’mon, time to get up and into the shower. He’ll be here soon.” 

It’s a bit of a struggle to get up, and then a bit more of a struggle to get undressed, and then a big struggle to not throw up all over Gansey, but they somehow manage it and Ronan gets in the shower. Gansey chucks Ronan’s clothes in the washing machine, then leans against the counter while Ronan attempts to shower himself vaguely respectable. 

“Did you want me to come with you again tomorrow?” Gansey asks, “I can email my supervisor and explain what’s going on.” 

“Nah,” Ronan grunts, swills water around his mouth and spits it out, “I’ll be fine. So long as I don’t murder Declan.” 

“Alright then,” Gansey says, “please don’t murder Declan.” 

“You’re right,” Ronan says, “Matthew would be very upset with me.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t love him,” Gansey sighs, fiddles with the toothbrush holder, “I know he’s a dick, but you need him.” 

“I don’t need him,” Ronan retorts, then grunts, and slaps the shower wall, “God,” he snaps, “fine, I need him. I can’t do this without him.” 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Gansey says, “you don’t have to be angry about it.” 

Before Ronan can answer, they can hear a vaguely muffled knock on the front door. Ronan turns the shower off. 

“I’ll answer it,” Gansey says, pushes himself away from the counter, “you get dressed.” 

 

-

 

He hasn’t made it out of his room by the time Adam comes to him, knocks lightly on his door. Ronan answers in a pair of sweatpants and his shirt hanging around his neck. Tries to look a little less like he’d spent the last half hour vomiting, and a bit more like he was a functional human being. 

“Hey,” he rasps. Adam frowns up at him. 

“Hey,” he replies, takes a half step forward and lifts his hand to brush over Ronan’s face lightly, “how’re you feeling?” 

“Like an idiot,” Ronan admits, “how was work?” 

“Boring,” Adam says, takes the other half step forwards so they’re standing chest to chest, “you tired?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, relief flooding him as Adam leans in against him. He drops his head down to rest against the crook of Adam’s neck, exhales heavily. “Can we go to bed?” 

“Yes,” Adam says, cups the back of Ronan’s head and turns to kiss the side of his neck, “but you should drink some water, and we probably want a bucket for the side of the bed.” 

“I’m fine,” Ronan grunts, then reconsiders, “ok, fine,” he says, “not like there’s anything left for me to throw up.” 

“Bodies are surprising,” Adam says with a shrug, pulls away, “c’mon then, water.” 

-

Gansey digs out their bucket from the depths of the laundry cupboard for them, Adam fills a water bottle while Ronan drinks the glass of water he’d been handed, and then chivvies him back to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He disappears momentarily and then returns with a toothbrush still in its package. 

“I bought a toothbrush on my way,” he says, ripping the cardboard open, “I thought I might leave it here.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says round his toothbrush, drips minty foam down his face, “I like that idea.” 

“Ok, good,” Adam says, reaches calmly round Ronan to get the toothpaste. He’s taking all of this in his stride remarkably well. Almost too well, it makes Ronan feel vaguely nervous, even though he tells himself to fuck off with that. 

“Does it help?” Adam asks once they’re in bed, teeth brushed, hydrated, Ronan pressed in under Adam’s chin. 

“Does what help?” Ronan asks. 

“The drinking,” Adam clarifies, drags his hand lazily down the back of Ronan’s arm. 

“Sometimes,” he says after a few long moments of silence. He turns his head so his face is buried against Adam’s chest. “Not when it ends like this.” 

“Like what?” Adam asks. 

“With repercussions,” Ronan says, laughs a little bitterly, turns his head again so his voice is clearer, “with knowing I shouldn’t have drunk so much.” 

“Ah,” Adam says, “ok.” 

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Ronan asks, uncomfortable, “My drinking.” 

“A little,” Adam admits, “I’m more worried about you than anything, though.” 

“You don’t need to worry,” Ronan says, a little stupidly, apparently, because Adam laughs. 

“Right,” he says, “ok, I guess I don’t need to worry about global warming, either.” 

Ronan huffs grumpily, presses his fingers in against Adam’s hip. “Ok,” he says, “my disaster isn’t quite that scale.” 

“I know,” Adam says, the laugh entirely gone from his voice, “I just want you to be safe, ‘y’know.” 

“I know,” Ronan sighs, “Adam.” 

“Yeah?” 

“If this shit doesn’t work out - with getting Kavinsky fucking locked up or shit - I’m not - I don’t know what I’m going to do. He won’t just leave me alone if I lose this.” 

“Hey,” Adam says, shifts so he can wrap his arm tighter around Ronan’s shoulders, “don’t think about that. This should be a clear cut case. If he somehow wriggles his way out of it? We’ll deal with it then. Together. You’re going to be ok.” 

“That’s easy to say,” Ronan says, sighs, “ok,” he concedes, “ok. Just, I don’t know.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, presses a kiss to the top of Ronan’s head, “ok babe. Let’s sleep now.” 

“Right,” Ronan grumbles. 

“I love you,” Adam says, and Ronan feels the words squeezing at his lungs, choking the air out of him. 

“Mm,” he says coherently, presses his forehead against Adam’s shoulder, digs his nails into Adam’s side just a little. “Goodnight.” 

 

-

Morning comes, bringing with it the hangover Ronan had been expecting but still praying wouldn’t be there, and also, Adam still in his bed, arm draped low over Ronan’s hips. 

“Y’still sleeping?” Ronan asks the dim room, voice scratching out through his whiskey and stomach acid burnt throat, “Adam?” 

“M’n’t,” Adam replies clearly, “shh.” 

“Adam,” Ronan says again, even though he’d quite like to do as Adam said and just keep enjoying the warmth of Adam’s arms around him, “do you have work this morning?” 

Adam unburies his face from the pillow to blink vaguely up at Ronan, but doesn’t appear anywhere near as panicked as Ronan thought he might about the probability that he was missing work. The sun was up high enough that it was pushing through the chinks in his curtains, which meant the morning was late enough that normal people were waking up, not just people who worked at unGodly hours in the morning. 

“I called in last night,” he says, “asked for the morning off.” 

Now Ronan blinks at him. 

“Why?” 

“Why do you think?” Adam scoffs, drops his head back down on the pillow and rubs his face against it. “I didn’t want to have to rush off and leave you so early in the morning.” 

“Huh,” Ronan says, probably a little more stumped over this than he ought to have been. “What about,” he starts slowly well aware he’s probably about to step into a fire, “what about your mum?” Adam closes his eyes. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says. 

“Adam,” Ronan says, knows he sounds positively desperate, “I don’t want you to fuck up your life for me.” 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Adam says, but he says it softly, “I promise you I’ll be fine. I’m not fucking anything up. Trust me.” 

Ronan’s not great at trust. Hasn’t been for a while. He thinks that maybe he wants to be, and at the very least, that Adam deserves it. He knows he’s said it before, knows he meant it then. Doesn’t know why this feels like such a big deal. Probably because he’s tired, and hungover, and a fucking gorgeous man is in his bed giving up hours of pay so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone after a hard day, and that just all seems too good to be true. 

“Ok,” he says, “I trust you.” 

“You hungover?” Adam asks, voice wry. He lifts his hand from Ronan’s hip, presses it gently against Ronan’s cheek instead, and Ronan presses his face hard into the touch. 

“Yeah,” he says, “so fucking hungover.” 

“Breakfast, then?” Adam asks, “Something disgustingly fatty?” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, “only if you’re cooking it.” 

“Of course,” Adam says, “what kind of monster would I be if I didn’t make breakfast for my poor hungover boyfriend?” 

“A sensible one,” Ronan suggests, snorts a little as Adam tweaks his cheek. 

“Thanks for not throwing up on me in the middle of the night.” 

“Thanks for cuddling me even though there was a chance of being vomited on.” 

 

-

 

Thursday  
2:58 (pm)  
-Can we meet for a coffee?

3:06  
+What is this? Hanging out 2ce in 1 week???

3:08  
-Who the fuvk writes twice as 2ce you dipshit  
-are you down or what?

3:09  
+obvs im down  
+when/where/why?

3:11  
-20 mins? That fucking hipster shit place you like with the fish tanks? Because i have shit i wanna ask u?

3:14  
+What are you doing down that end of town? That’s like, Declan’s favourite hang out area. Are you 2 best friends now?

3:15  
-that’s part of the shit i wanna talk to you about. 

3:16  
+Ok, ok. I can’t turn down an invitation to my favourite fishy place anyway. See you seen bb xx

 

-

 

By the time Noah turns up, Ronan’s already on his second coffee, squeezed into an armchair behind a bookcase which in turn, is behind a fish tank. He’d already been here when he’d texted Noah, some part of his brain had just, stupidly, assumed that Noah would be here when he turned up because he’d only ever been here with Noah. It was such a Noah place it seemed ridiculous that it would even exist without him. 

So. He’s bored, and jittery with the amount of coffee he’s been drinking purely to have something to do with his hands, and his teeth kind of hurt with the amount of sugar he’s ingested with it. He shouldn’t have told Gansey to go to class. He should’ve agreed that he needed to be babysat. He hates that he hates being alone right now. Being alone was a thing he used to enjoy, now it was tedious and vaguely terrifying. 

“Why do you look so much like death warmed up right now?” Noah asks in greeting, drops himself down on the armchair opposite Ronan, and leans across the small rickety table to look at him closer, “Spill.” 

“I had too much coffee,” Ronan grunts, “I looked fine until I came into this fucking awful place.” 

“Usually people wait until their coffee date arrives to start drinking coffee,” Noah points out archly, “so I have little to no sympathy, and I’m erring on the ‘no’ side.” 

Ronan sticks his tongue out at him. 

“But,” Noah continues, settles back against the plump cushions on his chair, “obviously the real reason behind your frankly zombie-esque pallor does not lie within the coffee, so, what’s up, my sweet biscuit?” 

“Well,” Ronan begins, and is promptly interrupted by a server who greets Noah by name and asks if he wants his usual. 

“Oh yes,” Noah grins, “with a slice of carrot cake please.” 

“I’ll have another espresso,” Ronan begins, and is again, promptly interrupted. 

“He won’t have another espresso,” Noah says smoothly, “he’ll have a peppermint tea with honey, and, God, when did you last eat? Toast with peanut butter.” 

The server doesn’t even bother looking at Ronan to confirm, just grins back at Noah, nods, and whisks away. 

“That was fucking rude,” Ronan snaps, and Noah shrugs airily. 

“Deal with,” he says. 

“Fine,” Ronan says, “and for your information, I had a fucking huge breakfast, so.” 

“It’s nearly 4,” Noah point out, “the correct defense here would have been you telling me you ate lunch.” 

“I was busy,” Ronan says.

“With what?” 

“Well,” Ronan says, still snapping, “I would have told you but I kept being fucking interrupted.” 

“God,” Noah says, mimes zipping his mouth shut, then leans forwards, props his elbows on the table, and nods at Ronan. Ronan scowls. 

“I told Declan everything,” Ronan says, still somewhat bitter about this, “and I - realised I couldn’t live like this anymore. I couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much fucking work I put into making myself better, I couldn’t get out of this if I left my fucking - fucking poison out. So. I’ve asked Declan to help me put a case together to get Kavinsky put away.” 

Noah mimes unzipping his mouth, leans further across the table and takes hold of Ronan’s hands. “If you want me to testify,” he says, “I fucking will.” 

Ronan snorts, thinks about pulling his hands away, then just squeezes Noah’s hands back. 

“You’re a fucking mind reader sometimes,” he says, “of course you knew what I was going to ask you.” 

Noah shrugs, “I’ve offered before.”

“I know,” Ronan says, “thank you.” 

“Don’t,” Noah says heatedly, shuffles further forwards until he’s barely even perched on the edge of his seat, “there is no way I would have ever refused this. And,” he adds sharply, raises his eyebrows, “don’t you dare try and make a sarcastic joke here or something, I will not have you pretending this isn’t a big fucking deal.” 

Ronan scowls back at him, then lets the scowl drop off his face as he shuts his eyes. “Ok,” he says, then, “I fucking hate this, Noah.” 

“Yeah,” Noah says, “it’s going to be really fucking great seeing that motherfucker drown, though.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, tries to laugh a little, doesn’t quite make it. Noah lets go of his hands to stand up and step around the table to sit back down on the arm of Ronan’s chair, wraps his arms round Ronan’s shoulders, and rests his head on top of Ronan’s. 

“Gansey’s gonna testify too?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan mumbles, “I feel like such a shit. Asking you guys to do this. Even though you want to.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Noah says, “feel like a shit if you want, but know that I don’t think you should. And neither does Gans.” 

 

-

 

5:32 (pm)  
/bb u shldnt lve ur car @ hm so oftn its 2 tmptng xxxx  
/mks me feel lk u wnt me 2 lve u a gft

5:34  
-Touch my car and you’rehijksfbd

-

“Don’t fucking reply to him!” Declan snaps, holding Ronan’s phone up in the air away from Ronan’s angry swipes, “it’s not going to look good in court if you’re shown to be sending death threats you absolute fuck ass.” 

“I wasn’t going to send him a death threat!” Ronan snaps back, would get up to grab his phone back from Declan, but Gansey is holding the back of his shirt, a long suffering expression on his face.

“Sure,” Declan sneers, “you definitely weren’t going to finish that sentence with, ‘and you’re dead meat’, were you?” 

“No,” Ronan grits out, “I was going to say -” he has to pause here to try and think of something vaguely convincing, and Declan snorts at him, chucks his phone back. 

“Don’t jeopardize this, Ronan. You know you’re supposed to show me or Grant the fucking texts from Kavinsky rather than replying.”

“Whatever,” Ronan grumbles, then, “but we’re not going to ignore the fact that he’s fucking threatening my car, are we?” 

“No,” Declan says, he, like Gansey, looks long suffering. It’s pissing Ronan off to no end. “We’ll have the car thoroughly checked out. Before you try and drive it again,” he adds sharply, as if he expected Ronan would just jump into a possibly booby trapped car. This was probably a fair assumption to make. He was still mad about the implication though. 

Kavinsky has replied to his keyboard smash text. 

 

-

5:35  
/Oh drlng u r alwys so elqnt.   
/lv whn u txt bck  
/r u gttng brd of wtng fr my pybck?

5:36  
/dnt wrry its cmng  
/jst lk tsng u  
/u no hw mch i lk tsng u  
/wnt u 2 beg 4 it  
/xxxxx

-

This time Gansey whips the phone out of his hands. 

“I wasn’t going to fucking reply,” Ronan snaps, and Gansey shakes his head, drops the phone down on the couch on his other side. 

“I didn’t think you were,” he says soothingly, Declan is stepping around the couch to scoop the phone up so he can read the texts as well. Ronan fucking hates this. There’s no privacy. “I just don’t think it’s healthy for you to have to read the texts he sends you. It wasn’t before, and it isn’t now.”

“Fucking whatever,” Ronan says, tries to ignore Declan’s twisted expression. They’re at Declan’s. Ronan had gone there after afternoon tea with Noah, because he was supposed to be meeting Gansey and the lawyer, Mr Grant there, but now they’ve had their meeting, he just wants to go the fuck home. He doesn’t want to be sitting on Declan’s plush white sofas for a second longer. He’s at Gansey’s mercy though. Declan had picked him up this morning, and Gansey had driven them here from the coffee shop, and he was going to drive them back too, and he didn’t look like he was ready to leave yet. Ronan’s BMW was at home, possibly in Kavinsky’s merciless hands.

“I was thinking,” Gansey says, not to Ronan, but to Declan, “that maybe we should leave Ronan’s phone with you, or Mr Grant, and get him a new phone. So that he doesn’t receive the texts, but we can still record them.” 

“Oh great,” Ronan sneers, “yeah cool, just leave me without a phone. I love it.” 

“You hate your phone anyway,” Declan says cooly, “it’s not like it’d be a big deal.” 

“He hated it until he started talking to Adam,” Gansey corrects, “now he’s barely away from it, they text so much.” 

“Really?” Declan asks, he sounds surprised and far too interested. Ronan wants to smack everyone in this room. Including himself. 

“Can you guys stop fucking talking about me as if I’m not here,” he growls instead, burrows against the back of the couch, crosses his arms tight over his chest. He wants Adam here. Adam wouldn’t fucking talk about him like he’s a badly behaved puppy. 

Gansey looks a little horrified, shuffles along the couch to stretch his arm out over Ronan’s shoulders. “Sorry,” he says emphatically. 

“Whatever,” Ronan grunts, glares at Declan, “we could just switch out the sim cards,” he says begrudgingly, “put my sim in a crappy phone that can stay in fucking Grant’s office or some shit, and I’ll keep my phone and just get a new number.” 

“That works,” Declan says smoothly, “I have some cheap phones in my office, as well as some spare sims, we can set you up now.” 

 

-

6:03  
-Parrish it’s Ronan I have a new fucking sim card so K cant contact me directly anymore. Text me here now unless you want my fucking brother or lawyer to read your sexts. 

6:07  
~When have I ever sexted you

6:09  
-You send me a pic of a penis once. 

6:11  
~A drawing of a penis!!!!!  
~And you sent lots first.   
~This is a good idea though, I’m glad he won’t be texting you anymore. 

6:12  
-Me too.   
-You know if yuo want you could sext me…

6:13  
~I’m at work Ronan. 

6:14  
-Well I don’t mean right now, I’m with my brother and gansey god.   
-Just in future

6:18  
~I’ll think about it  
~Do you want me to come round tonight?

6:20  
-If that’s your idea of sexting, boy do I have news for you. 

6:21  
~Oh fuck off. 

6:22  
-I always want you to come around. 

6:24  
~I’m getting of work a little later tonight, more like midnight, will that be ok? 

6:26  
-If you don’t mind coming over so late. 

6:27  
~So long as I’m coming over to you I don’t mind at all xxx

6:31  
-Fuck you’re so fucking soppy   
-xxxxx

6:35  
~I’ll text you later ok babe? My break’s over.   
~Love you x

6:39  
-<3 

 

-

 

Ronan is under strict orders not to even go near his car until Declan’s ‘men’ have looked at it tomorrow morning, so Gansey has to all but frog march him up to their flat to dissuade him from just checking it at least looks ok. 

“If it was the Pig,” Ronan says sourly, pressing his forehead against the wood of the front door while Gansey cages him in against it as he unlocks the door, “you would check on it no matter what fucking Declan said.” 

“I wouldn’t if I suspected that Kavinsky had touched it,” Gansey says calmly, pushes the door open and nudges Ronan inside, “Adam coming over tonight?” 

“Yes.” 

“You getting drunk tonight?” 

“No.” 

“Thank God,” Gansey sighs, shuts the door behind them, “I don’t think I could deal with holding your hair back two nights in a row.” 

“I don’t have any fucking hair to hold back,” Ronan says, and Gansey laughs at him. 

“Wanna hot drink?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen, “I need some tea.” 

“Gansey,” Ronan says, following on Gansey’s heels. 

“Yes, dear?” Gansey asks, not looking round as he pulls out his canister of peppermint, lemon, cayenne, loose leaf, fair trade, organic tea down and flicks the kettle on to boil. 

“Am I asking for too much?” Ronan asks, presses his forehead against Gansey’s back, “Am I - is this too much for you? You don’t have to do any of this is you don’t want.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey says. Ronan thinks that if he had sounded long suffering before, it was nothing in comparison to the tone Gansey’s breathing out now. “Ronan,” he says again, and Ronan sighs heavily against the back of Gansey’s cardigan. 

“No,” Gansey says firmly, doesn’t move or turn to face Ronan, knows from long experience that sometimes Ronan just wants to not be seen. “Of course this is overwhelming,” he says lightly, “and scary. But I want to be doing this with you. For you. You know that. I love you, Ronan, this isn’t too much for me. It feels like my fight as well.” 

Ronan sniffs, turns his face slowly against Gansey’s back to try and stem any rebellious tears. “I know,” he says, “I just-” 

“No,” Gansey says again, “I know what you just. You’re my brother, Ronan. You’re my best friend. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, don’t doubt that.” 

Ronan has to be silent for a long while, just breathing in against Gansey while Gansey makes his tea, makes a hot chocolate for Ronan as well. 

“I love you too,” he says eventually, and Gansey snorts, finally turns around to hook his elbow round Ronan’s neck and drags him close in a one armed hug. 

“I know,” he says, “why else would I let you steal my favourite socks?” 

 

-

 

11:58  
~I’m just leaving work now, be there in like 20 x

Friday  
12:01 (am)  
-Gansey here again, don’t worry he’s not drunk this time, he’s just very, very asleep. Text when you get here and I’ll let you in :) 

12:04  
~Ah. Should I come round at all then? I don’t want to wake him if he’s sleeping. 

12:05  
-I think so yes.  
-That is of course, if you want to, I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do. 

12:06  
~ok well I’ll be there soonish then. 

12:07  
-I’m looking forward to seeing you!

12:08  
~Gans, we saw each other at uni today :)

12:09  
-Still. You make Ronan so happy, you know, I like seeing that. 

12:10  
~Oh man, Ro’s so not going to be happy when he reads these texts. 

12:11  
-You’re really good for him. And, I think, he’s really good for you too. It’s so beautiful getting to see two of my friends growing so wonderfully with each other. 

12:12  
~Oh God Ronan’s going to flip.  
~But.  
~Thank you  
~I really appreciate that you think all this. 

12:13  
-And I appreciate you. 

12:14  
~I’m blushing. 

12:15  
-Oh good.   
-Not oh good in a flirty way, Ronan, for when you read this and want to murder me for hitting on your boyfriend, but oh good in a, I’m glad Adam is reading these texts and knowing that I appreciate him kind of way. 

12:16  
~Also, Ronan, please don’t murder Gansey for his very sweet texts because I’m enjoying them as much as they’re embarrassing me. 

12:17  
-I love you very much Ronan it would be a shame to be murdered by you. 

12:18  
~Also if you murdered Gansey, Blue would murder you, and then I would be very sad about having a friend and a boyfriend dead, and a good friend in jail. 

12:19  
-It would be rather awful really. Who would make sure Adam ate dinner and didn’t study all night???? 

12:20  
~I vaguely resent that.  
~Also I’m here, can you let me in 

-

Ronan wakes to the very odd sensation of being put down in his bed. He had a vague recollection of being gathered in someone's arms and carried through the house into his own bedroom, but he’s not sure if this is a true memory, or if he’s brain’s just knowing that this is what must have happened. 

“Mff,” he says to announce his wakefulness, and as a half complaint about the fact that Adam - because that had to be the person who’d picked him up - wasn’t in bed with him. 

“Oh,” Adam says, thank God it was him, “I didn’t mean to wake you, babe, sorry,” 

“C’m’ere,” Ronan says into his pillows, not entirely sure which way he’s facing, or which way Adam is. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on Gansey’s bed, but the combination of hot chocolate and Gansey’s classical music in the background, and the soothing sound of Gansey slowly turning pages had dropped him off to sleep half way through a complaint about Gansey’s nerdiness. 

“Give me a second,” Adam replies, “I’m just getting undressed. I don’t want to get muck all over your sheets.” 

“Wouldn’t care if you did,” Ronan says staunchly, “want you.” 

“God,” Adam says softly, “you’re so fucking cute when you’re asleep.” 

“M’not ‘sleep,” Ronan protests, because he isn’t, even if his eyes are still glued shut and his brain is nothing but fog and the constant want of Adam holding him. 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says lightly, there’s a small thump that’s most likely Adam’s boots being taken off, a slight rustling now, and then the mattress dips by Ronan’s hips, and Adam starts tugging the blanket out from under Ronan’s body. “C’mon baby,” he says quietly, “if you’re really awake, help me get you under these blankets.” 

Ronan would very much like to prove how much he’s awake, but his body is more interested in being very asleep, and the only useful thing his hands want to do is reach out to grip onto the fabric of Adam’s t-shirt to tug him closer. Adam makes a breathy chuckling noise, kisses the side of Ronan’s face, and somehow wrangles the both of them under the blankets. 

As soon as Adam’s stopped shuffling the blankets around, Ronan rolls up against him, wants to press the entire length of his body flush against Adam’s. 

“Mm,” Adam says, barely louder than his heartbeat against Ronan’s ear, “you’re snugglier than Jane tonight.” 

“Sh-up,” Ronan says, and Adam must have shut up, or, Ronan must have fallen asleep again before Adam could reply because that’s the last thing Ronan remembers until he wakes up again a few hours later with his heart in his throat. 

“Shh,” Adam is soothing, “Babe, it’s ok, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he’s saying, his arms loose but firm around Ronan’s shoulders and it takes Ronan two seconds too long to even recognise him in his dream addled state. “It’s ok,” Adam is saying again, “you’re ok.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan moans, blinking his eyes open and then shut again hard to try and press the image of his dreams out of his eyelids, “fuck, fuck.” 

“It’s ok” Adam says again, and Ronan could laugh if his throat wasn’t too full of his heart and nausea. “It was just a dream,” Adam is saying, which is true, and not true at the same time, and it hurts to hear. 

“I know,” Ronan gasps out, because he does know, and knowing doesn’t make it that much easier, “I know, I - fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Water?” Adam asks carefully, he’s touching Ronan’s cheek tentatively, and it takes Ronan a few seconds to realise he’s brushing tears away. 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, hoarse, realises how much he needs water. 

Adam hands him a glass of water that he himself must have put there earlier, because Ronan sure as fuck didn’t. He helps Ronan into a sitting position, propping him up against his own shoulder and holding him carefully. Ronan sips at it, then gulps the rest of it thirstily, trying to dampen the fire in his lungs. He passes the glass back, Adam puts it down on the bedside table again. Ronan wants to crawl out of the bed and into the bathroom and shower off the feeling of sweat and the crawling sensation of self-disgust that’s pressing it’s way under his skin. Adam doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,’ Ronan says eventually, leaning away from Adam’s shoulder so Adam can pull away if he wants, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I would have been very surprised if you’d chosen to have a nightmare,” Adam says lightly, “it’s ok, darling.” 

“So,” Ronan says bitterly, “I guess welcome to the un-fun portion of sharing a bed with me.” 

“I thought that was the snoring,” Adam says, wraps his arm around Ronan’s waist and pulls him back close, “Ro,” he says, “I don’t care for me about you having nightmares.” It vaguely doesn’t make sense, but it also vaguely does make sense. Ronan sighs, lets Adam draw him closer. 

“Did you carry me to bed?” he asks, and Adam snorts a little, presses a kiss to Ronan’s temple. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Ronan says. 

“Anytime,” Adam says, “do you want to... talk about the dream?” 

“Not really,” Ronan sighs, pushes back against Adam to encourage the lying down thing to happen again, “it’s just - I have them reasonably often.” 

“About Kavinsky?” Adam asks quietly, lets Ronan push them down, then readjusts them until they’re lying more comfortably. 

“He’s in them usually, yeah,” Ronan says, “but more about - more about my -about my father’s death.” 

“Oh,” Adam says, even more quiet, “I’m sorry, Ro.” 

“Don’t be,” Ronan says, “hold me.” 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, he’s already holding him, just squeezes him tighter. “Sleep?” 

“Mm.” Ronan agrees, already closing his eyes again, trying to focus on nothing but the sound of Adam’s breath, on the feel of Adam’s muscles flexing against him, the thrum of his pulse under his skin. 

 

-

 

This time when he wakes up, it’s to his room full of light, his bed empty, and the sound of hushed voices in the kitchen. Gansey and Adam, their voices backed by the noise of the coffee machine and a faint sizzling noise. He’s not sure if it’s the light in his room that woke him, or the sound of the coffee machine, or simply the lack of Adam. He feels remarkably well rested considering that he’d woken up at some probably awful time in the morning with a nightmare. He hopes that Adam feels the same. He reaches for his phone on instinct, a new instinct created by wanting to know if Adam has texted him good morning yet. A stupid instinct to follow when Adam is in his kitchen, but still. 

“Gansey,” he says, not even two minutes later, standing in the kitchen doorway and holding his phone grumpily, “why are you such a fucking nerd.” 

“Ah,” Gansey says cheerfully, “good morning sleeping beauty, I’m assuming you’re referring to my text conversation with Adam last night on your phone.” 

“I am indeed,” Ronan says darkly, heads straight for Adam who’s perched at the counter, smiling lazily at him. Adam’s fully dressed, and obviously showered too, his hair is still damp, but Gansey is in his floral dressing gown. “Why can’t you send sap messages on your own phone?” 

“Because I wanted you to read them,” Gansey replies primly as Adam wraps his arms around Ronan’s waist and pulls him in close between his knees to kiss his cheek. “Do you want coffee? I’m making pikelets too. Adam made the mix up.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, distracted from his previous annoyance by Adam’s lips now against his jaw, “yes please.” 

“You obviously woke up on the right side of the bed,” Gansey says, “to be saying please in the morning.” 

“Shut up,” Ronan grumbles, tilts his head down so he can kiss Adam back, “I’m only sparing you from my text related wrath because Adam would be sad if I didn’t.” 

“That’s right,” Adam mumbles, kisses Ronan again, a little sloppy. Gansey turns round just in time to see this, and snorts. 

“Guys, please,” he says, “we have a rule about shooting porn in the kitchen.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan grumbles, “we’re not allowed to do it in front of your salad.” 

Adam laughs, then continues kissing Ronan for a few seconds, hard and pressing, hands gripping tightly at the sides of Ronan’s face. 

Gansey makes a disgruntled noise behind them, but turns back to his pikelets, swearing under his breath that it’s just as bad in front of his coffee as it is in front of his salad. 

“Ok,” Adam says, breaking away from the kiss even while Ronan tries to continue it, “good morning, sweet heart, let’s stop ruining Gans’s morning, huh?” 

“We’re probably making it,” Ronan grumbles back, manages to get another kiss in, “I’ve seen his erotica collection.” 

“Those are graphic novels!” Gansey protests hotly, whipping around, spatula in hand, “and you’ve seen them, because you’ve read all of them, and got coffee all over my favourite one.” 

Adam laughs. Ronan wishes he could shrink himself down and just spend the day in Adam’s pocket, listening to him laugh. And then he wishes he’d never had such a ridiculously, stupidly embarrassing thought. 

“So,” Adam asks, manhandling Ronan around to get him to sit on the stool next next to him instead of trying to climb onto Adam’s lap, “what’s the plan for today?” 

“Well,” Gansey says, “I’m driving Ronan to therapy - ah fuck-” he adds, accidentally flipping a pikelet right out of the pan, “-uh- and then I’m going to class. I told Adam about your car,” Gansey says to Ronan. 

“I don’t see why Declan couldn’t have fucking got his guys on it earlier in the morning,” Ronan grumbles, “I don’t like having to be ferried about.”

Really, he knows exactly why Declan’s making sure Ronan’s going to need rides, and he’s not pleased about it. This is why he’d kept Declan out before, to cut down on how much of Ronan’s life Declan could control. 

“And then Declan’s picking Ronan up,” Gansey continues, mangles another pikelet, “and they’re going to Mr Grant’s office to meet with the detective he hired, and I’ll meet Ronan out there after I finish class and bring him back home.” 

“I’ve never bothered to keep a planner diary,” Ronan says, “because I’ve always had Gansey.” 

Adam grins, then gets up to go help Gansey with the pikelets, chivvies Gansey away from the pan and towards the coffee. “If you want,” he says slowly, “I could pick Ronan up instead.” 

“Huh,” Gansey says, grabbing coffee mugs, glances round to look at Ronan eyebrows raised, “that might be good, then I could go out with Blue tonight.” 

“You could anyway,” Ronan snaps, “you don’t have to babysit me. I could get a taxi, or the bus, or even fucking walk.” 

“No,” Gansey says simply, turns back to the coffee. 

“And,” Ronan continues, “you don’t have a car, Parrish,” 

“I could borrow Noah’s,” Adam says, flips a pikelet perfectly, much to Gansey’s vocal bemusement, “he’s said I can anytime I like.” 

Ronan hesitates. Gansey puts a coffee down in front of him. “Do you even have the time?” he asks eventually. 

“Yes,” Adam says, “I do. And I’m more than happy to do it, it means I get to spend more time with you.” 

“Aw,” Gansey says, takes an overly loud slurp from his coffee as he perches on the counter in front of Ronan. Ronan shoves him, not hard. 

“Ok,” he says, “I’d like that. Take me to yours tonight?” 

“Ok,” Adam says easily, then turns to wink at Gansey, “you could bring Blue round here then,” he says. 

-

Friday  
9:49 (am)  
+Adam’s fucking borroing my car this evening??!!!!

9:50  
-I am aware???

9:51  
+dO you have aNY FUCKInG clue how long I’ve been trying to persuade him to borrow it for like?? Going to work?? HOW the FUzck did you convince him????

9:52  
-Funnily enough, he suggested it ;) 

9:53  
+GOD maybe i should snuggle him more nd then he’d be more willing to do as i ask. 

9:54  
-you keep your hands to yourself fool. 

9:55  
+:( :( :( :( :((((((((

9:57  
-Your pouts only work in real life. They’re fruitless here,

9:58  
+(image attached)

9:59  
-photos of it don’t carry the same weight either.  
-i gtg i have therapy bye bitch 

10:00  
+Love you x :D 

-

“I’m sure,” Calla says, over her steaming and vaguely spicy smelling coffee, “that I don’t need to tell you how pleased I am that you’re taking this issue to the authorities.” 

“In fact,” Ronan grumbles, huddling further down in his chair, “I’d prefer that you didn’t.” 

“I’ll let you know now that I’m very happy to testify in any capacity,” Calla says plainly, “tell your lawyer that when you see him this afternoon.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan mumbles. 

“Alright,” Calla says, “I suppose you don’t want to talk about any of this. So, what’s on the agenda today?” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, fiddles with the arm of the armchair, “um,” he says, feels like Calla already knows what he’s going to say, which is a little impossible, but the expression she’s wearing is very telling. “Adam said he loved me,” he says to the wall, “more than once. Without prompting.” 

“Alright,” Calla says, “and you’re thinking, ‘how does he love me after not even a month?’ and also, ‘how do I love him after only a month?’?” 

Ronan glares, Calla smiles serenely. 

“Yes,” Ronan grits out, “but - more importantly - God, I’m going to sound like an asshole-” 

“When don’t you?” 

“You’re so fucking rude,” Ronan says, but he grins, “more importantly. How do I know if what I’m feeling is - is fucking love? What if I’m just - just thinking it is because he actually treats me so fucking well, and because he’s so good looking, and because HE says he loves me. What if I just think I’m in love, but I’m not?” 

“Is that why you haven’t said it back to him yet?” Calla asks. Ronan wishes she’d stop reading his fucking mind. 

“Yes,” he says. 

“Do you worry the same thing about loving Gansey?” Calla asks, “Or Noah, or Matthew, or Blue?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “but it’s different- it fucking is-” he adds heatedly as Calla opens her mouth, ostensibly to object, “-that’s platonic. This is - with Adam - it’s - it’s different.” 

“Ok,” Calla says easily, “do you enjoy spending time with him?” 

“Obviously,” Ronan snaps. 

“And do you find him interesting? Want to know more about him?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “but-” 

“And does he want you to give him a love declaration anytime soon?” 

“He says he doesn’t,” Ronan says, “but-” 

“I don’t see what the problem is then,” Calla says with an irritating shrug. 

“It’s a problem,” Ronan says, “because I don’t want to - to lead him on.” 

“You’re not,” Calla says, “you’re having a good time with him. You’re dating him. You don’t have to promise him your everlasting affection yet. And you haven’t, so you’re not leading him on in any way.” 

“I feel like I am.” 

“You feel a lot of things,” Calla says, “a lot of false things.” 

“You sure know how to be comforting,” Ronan snaps, and Calla grins widely. 

“I’ve never pretended to be comforting,” she says, “just helpful.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snaps, “I’m well aware that I - I over-dramatise things to myself.” 

“No,” Calla says, “you straight up lie to yourself. And usually not even very nice lies.” 

“Nice lies don’t exist,” Ronan grumbles, and Calla shrugs again. 

“Do you want to know,” Calla says, “what I think your biggest lie to yourself is?” 

No,” Ronan says. 

“That you deserve this,” Calla says anyone, “it’s like an origami lie, it’s so convoluted and layered. Not only do you lie to yourself that you deserve this, you lie to yourself that you know that you don’t deserve this. 

Ronan glares. 

“There’s no point in being so self-aware,” He says, “I just want-” 

“What do you want?” Calla asks when he doesn’t continue. 

“To know what I want,” Ronan says gumpily, “I- I used to know what I wanted.” 

“What did you want?” 

“A future,” Ronan says, clears his throat, “to make art. To be in love. To be with my family.” 

Calla nods. “You don’t still want that?” she asks. 

Ronan grimaces, shrugs, “I don’t think there’s any point in wanting what I can’t have,” he says. 

“Sure you can,” Calla says, “people want things they can’t have all the time, sometimes they even get them. Anyway, I don’t see why you can’t have any of what you want.” 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “maybe because sometimes? I don’t even want to be alive. Kind of hard to have a future if you’re dead. Or maybe because my father is dead and my mother may as well be for all that’s left of her? Definitely can’t just hang out with them anymore. I basically only draw cats and dicks now. No one considers that art.” 

Calla gives him a look that he’s very well used to now. It’s her, ‘Why are you talking such fucking rubbish’ look. 

“Why are you talking such fucking rubbish?” She asks, “Let’s run through this, shall we? Half of fucking art history is dicks, and the other half somehow involves cats. You’re on the right track. Yes, your parents are gone, and that is an awful thing, but you still have your brothers. You still have Gansey, you have Noah. That’s family right there. You have that. And your suicidal idealisations-” 

“I don’t,” Ronan interrupts, gritting his teeth, “I don’t want to kill myself. I just don’t want to be alive. Sometimes.” 

“Your lack of self preservation, then,” Calla corrects, “is part of why you’re here. That’s part of what you’re working on. This, you here with me, this is you actively seeking a future. This is you feeding your hope for a future, for a good future.” 

 

-

 

“How was therapy?” Declan asks when Ronan slams the volvo door shut behind him. 

“Fucked up,” Ronan grunts, tugging angrily at the seat belt and staring out the window, very much not wanting to look at Declan’s face. 

“If she’s not doing a good job,” Declan says, waiting for Ronan to finish buckling up before he pulls away, “I can find you someone else-” 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “she’s fucking great. She’s too good is the problem,” he says, presses his face against the tinted window as Declan starts the car up. 

“Ok,” Declan says, drives, “so long as you’re finding her useful.” 

“I want to go see mum,” Ronan says to the window, hates how his voice cracks, how it’s obvious his voice cracked even over the rumble of the engine. 

“We have an appointment with Grant,” Declan says, Ronan can feel him glancing at him. 

“I don’t care,” Ronan says, “I wanna see mum.” 

“Ronan,” Declan says, “it’s important that we actually go to these meetings. Especially because we’re meeting the detective we’re hiring for the case-” 

Ronan wants to open the car door and just fall out of it rather than continue this conversation because it feels like the only thing he even knows how to say right now is that he wants to see his mother. 

“I want-” he begins, can’t bring himself to finish, lifts his hands to cover his face. 

Declan’s silent for the space of two streets, and then he pulls over by a playing field, and reaches for his phone. Through his own ragged breath, Ronan can hear Declan’s phone dialing, and then Declan’s speaking. 

“Grant,” he says, “Lynch here. - - Yes. - - Yes. - - Run through the documents with Kelly without us, will you? - - Yes. - - All the phone files, yes. And the hospital records. Ask her to look into the police records too. - - No I’m not sure how long we’ll be, I’ll let you know when we’re on our way. Give my apologies to Kelly. - - Good. Good bye.” 

There’s a long silence in the car, then Declan indicates, and pulls back onto the road, keeps driving as if nothing’s happened. 

Only when they stop again at the next set of lights does he speak. “Do you want Matthew there?” 

Ronan can’t bring himself to speak, just shakes his head. 

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Declan asks next. 

Ronan can’t bring himself to shake his head, so he nods. 

“Ok,” Declan says, reaches out across the seats, rests his hand momentarily on Ronan’s shoulder. The light turns green, and he pulls away again, keeps driving. 

 

-

 

The receptionist isn’t at all surprised to see Declan, only looks mildly surprised to see Ronan. 

“It’s not your usual visiting time,” she says cheerfully to Declan as she signs them in, “I’m sure your mum will be happily surprised to see you both.” 

Declan does not tell her that their mother will not be happy or surprised because she’s incapable of both of these things. This is odd enough in itself, that Ronan finally lets himself look at Declan which he had been avoiding doing ever since Calla’s. 

He looks exhausted. Ronan doesn’t want to be looking. He looks away. Follows Declan to the gift store, where the lady fetches him a bouquet of flowers without him even asking. He puts a packet of tissues down on the counter as well, and she rings him up without comment. Ronan would comment if he trusted himself to speak. Follows Declan up to their mother’s room where he has to pause a moment outside to attempt to compose himself. Declan doesn’t comment, just waits for him, and then pushes the door open and leads Ronan inside. 

“Hello mother,” Declan says, “it’s good to see you. We have flowers.” 

Aurora does not say anything. 

“I’ll put them in the vase,” Declan says, crossing the room, “and toss out the old ones.” 

Aurora does not say anything. 

“Ronan’s here,” Declan says, putting the fresh bouquet down on the table by the vase, and lifting the old ones out, “he’s having a bad day.” 

Aurora does not say anything. She’s staring out the window blankly, a blanket around her shoulders, her hands languid in her lap. Declan drops the old flowers in the rubbish. 

“There,” he says, putting the new ones in the vase, “they look lovely.” 

“You don’t have to act like - like Matthew to make me feel better about this,” Ronan says hoarsely. 

“I’m not,” Declan says, puts his hands flat on the table and bends down over the flowers, inhales, “I miss talking to her too, Ronan. I miss them too.” He turns a little to look over his shoulder at Aurora, shrugs, “I miss you,” he says to her, “I wish you knew.” 

Aurora doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring. Ronan is standing in the middle of the room crying like a fucking idiot. He wants his mother to stand up and pull him into her arms like she used to do. To stroke his curls and pat his cheek. To tell him that everything was going to be fine. To tell him off for being mean to his brother. To say anything. 

She doesn’t, obviously. Declan is just watching Ronan now, like he’s not sure what to do about the fact that Ronan is still crying, is just standing there like a pillar of stupidity on the rug. 

“I visit her every week,” Declan says after a moment, “and bring her flowers, and talk to her. Not for long. I just tell her about my week. About what I’m worried about, what I’m happy about. I talk about you and Matty.” 

“I didn’t know,” Ronan says thickly, is well aware that his nose is running, but can’t be bothered lifting his arm to wipe it on his sleeve. Declan produces the pack of tissues from his pocket, walks over to Ronan who’s still standing near the door, and holds it out to him. 

“Here,” he says, “blow your nose.” 

It’s easier to just do as he’s told. He blows his nose. There’s probably no point, he doesn’t think he’s going to stop crying anytime soon, so his nose is going to keep running anyway. Declan takes the soggy tissue away again, deposits it in the rubbish with the wilted flowers, then crosses back over the rug to Ronan, wraps his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, and tugs him in under his chin. 

“I have a spare shirt in the car,” Declan says stiffly, “so you can get this one dirty.” 

Declan wears the same cologne their father had. Had done since the funeral. Uses the same brand of hair products their mother did. Uses the same air fresheners in his apartment that they had at the Barns for as long as Ronan can remember. He smells disconcertingly like all of Ronan’s childhood wrapped up in one solid body. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, who knows how much later, after his eyes are dripping less and his chest isn’t so full of emotion, “I’m sorry.” 

Declan’s still just holding him. It’s not a very intimate hug, really, it’s just his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, his chin on Ronan’s head, Ronan’s face pressed against his chest, his own arms hanging by his side. It’s more than they’ve shared for a long time. 

“Two apologies in a week,” Declan says lightly, “I must be dreaming.” 

Ronan thinks he might start crying again. 

“Do you want some water?” Declan asks, “You sound dehydrated.” 

Ronan nods, Declan releases him, digs the tissues back out, hands them over, and then goes to pour Ronan a glass of water from the jug by the door. Aurora is still just sitting there, staring out the window. Ronan sits down on one of the cushy chairs along the wall, lifts his feet up to rest on the seat, wraps his arms around his knees. 

“Is there anything you want to say to her?” Declan asks once he hands the water over, “Do you want me to leave so you can talk to her?” 

“No,” Ronan says, gulps the water down faster than he probably ought to, “no. I just wanted to see her.” 

“Ok,” Declan says, doesn’t comment further, just sits down in the chair next to Ronan. 

 

-

 

2:30 (pm)  
-Will you come get me around 5?

2:33  
~Yup x Text me the address and I’ll be there. 

-

“So,” Declan says, coming back into Grant’s office after taking a lengthy phone call that apparently had to be held in the bathroom, “that was Scott, my team manager. The guys who went to look at your car.” He’s speaking to Ronan, but he’s looking at Kelly. 

“And?” Ronan asks, feels like he would kill for this information.

“And,” Declan says, “it’s uh - well, the good news,” he says, “is that they didn’t find anything wrong with it,” 

“Ok,” Ronan says suspiciously, “so what-” 

“The bad news,” Declan continues, “is that’s because the car wasn’t there.” 

This is a bad time for Declan to have found a sense of humour. 

“Ah,” Kelly says. 

“Ah,” Grant says. 

They both look from Declan to Ronan. Grant knows how much the car means to Ronan, he’d been there throughout the whole debacle around their father’s death, around Ronan stealing the car, around the car legally becoming his. Kelly knows now because she’d spent the last few hours with Grant going through Kavinsky’s texts, and it definitely came up a few times, although quite lewdly, if Ronan recalls correctly. 

“What the fuck do you mean,” Ronan says carefully, “it isn’t there?” 

“I mean,” Declan sighs, “that it isn’t there, what else would I mean? Obviously Kavinsky stole it. What has he messaged today?” he asks Grant, ignoring Ronan’s vague growl. 

“Hm,” Grant says, reaches into his desk drawer for the phone, “last I checked, just ‘x’’s. Yeah, no, there’s been nothing new.” 

“Obviously,” Ronan snaps, “he’s waiting for me to text him back and ask where it is.” 

“Which you’re not doing,” Declan says sharply. 

Ronan holds his hand out to Grant. Grant narrows his eyes, shrugs, “It might be a good idea,” he says, “we might get proof that he took the car.” 

“So you text him then,” Declan snaps to Grant, “Ronan doesn’t need to be involved in this.” 

“Stop telling me what I need,” Ronan snaps back, “I can fucking handle texting.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Declan says, firm, “there is no reason for you to have to be texting him.” 

“For authenticity,” Ronan says, “he’ll know if it’s not me.” 

“Oh please,” Declan sneers, “a semi-literate toddler could imitate your texting style.” 

“Boys,” Grant interrupts, “this doesn’t need to be an argument. If it’s going to be, can we take it out of my office to do so?” 

Declan folds his arms, “I’m not arguing,” he snaps. 

Ronan sniffs angrily, folds his arms. Kelly rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t want you to do the texting,” Declan says again, stiff, “because I think you’ve already been through enough, and I don’t want you getting hurt. If you really think it’s a good idea for you to text him? Fine.”

Ronan scowls. 

Grant looks at him. 

Ronan scowls more. 

Declan looks at Grant. “Ok,” he says, “you text him.” 

When Ronan doesn’t say anything more, Grant shrugs, composes a text, and then reads it aloud. 

“‘The fuck’ve you put my car?’” he says, “How’s that?” 

“Probably needs about five more expletives Declan says snidely, “but that’ll do.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan says. 

“Right,” Grant says, “Declan, if you could send this, please.” 

“Sure,” Declan says, takes the phone, sends the text. 

Ronan ignores everyone, texts Adam the address. 

 

-

 

4:31  
~I’m on my way now

4:32  
-can we have mcdonalds for dinner

4:35  
~I have food at home :)

4:36  
-Omfg

4:37  
~Kidding, I haven’t done the shopping yet. Yeah, I could go for some chicken nuggets. 

4:37  
-You are the worst.  
-Stop texting while driving. 

4:43  
~Traffic’s busy, I”m texting in breaks, dw x

4:43  
-please don’t die. 

4:49  
~I promise xxx

 

-

 

“Huh,” Declan says when Noah’s beat up, yet still somehow bright red car pulls up outside Declan’s apartment, “I was certain you were going to get him to pick you up a block away or something, so I wouldn’t get to see him.” 

“Didn’t feel like walking,” Ronan grumbles, tugging his boots on. 

“Do I get to meet him?” Declan asks, twitching aside the curtain so he can get a better view of the street, “or are you going out there to meet him?” 

“Depends on whether or not he’s gotten out of the car by the time my boots are on,” Ronan says, and Declan crows triumphantly. 

“Ha!” he says, “he’s getting out of the car, looks like I’m in luck after all.” 

“If you try and grill him,” Ronan says, “I swear to God-” 

“I’ll be perfectly nice,” Declan says, “anyway, how could I put him off? He’s dating you.” 

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Ronan says sarcastically, “I’m a fucking delight,” 

“He’s much more handsome than you,” Declan says, stepping away from the window and heading over to the door, “not that that’s hard.” 

Ronan throws a cushion at his head, Declan ducks. Adam knocks on the door. Declan grins at Ronan, then opens it. 

“Hello,” he says, “you’re the man fucking my younger brother, then?” 

There’s a moment of strangled silence, and then Adam holds his hand out, “That’d be me,” he says cheerfully, “and, though it’s really none of your business, there’s no fucking.” 

Declan shakes his hand firmly, eyebrows raised, “I should have expected the sarcasm,” he says, then, “Ronan says you’re studying to be a lawyer?” 

“That at least is true,” Adam says, releases Declan’s hand, and looks around his shoulder at Ronan who’s walking up behind Declan, boots finally on. “You ready to go, babe?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, glares at Declan, who smirks back and mouths, ‘babe’, “I didn’t bring anything with me.” 

“We’ll have to do a meal sometime,” Declan says to the both of them, “with Matthew too. To get to know you better, Parrish.” 

“We will,” Adam says vaguely, “soon, I hope.” 

“Good,” Declan says, grips Ronan’s shoulder tightly, squeezes it, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, then to Adam, “if you fucking hurt him in anyway at all, please do believe that I will-” 

“Ok!” Ronan snaps, elbows Declan hard, “Fuck off Declan.” 

“Bye,” Adam says, somehow smiling pleasantly. He takes Ronan’s hand and leads them out. Ronan slams the door behind them. He can hear Declan laughing. Adam is also laughing. Ronan is fuming. 

“Baby,” Adam says, “don’t be mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” Ronan says, very mad. 

“Good,” Adam says cheerfully, walking back to the car, keys in his other hand, “Mcdonalds, then?” 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, is bitter about the fact that he has to fucking let go of Adam’s hand to get into the car. 

“Ok,” Adam says, does his seatbelt up, and then leans over to kiss Ronan firmly, “you doing ok?” 

Ronan considers. “Yeah,” he says, “kiss me again.” 

Adam does. “Good,” he says, once he’s pulled back, “I’m glad.” 

“Do you need to go to work after dinner?” Ronan asks, pulling his own seatbelt on as Adam pulls onto the road. 

“No,” Adam says, vague. 

“Why?” Ronan asks, “I can’t - you can’t keep missing work because of me. I know I agreed to- but - I don’t want you to get fired or some shit.” 

“I called my mother today,” Adam says slowly, “and I asked her about her medical bills.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says. 

“She didn’t really want to talk about them. She’s never really liked talking to me on the phone anyway. I asked her to send me the physical copies of the bills, and that I wasn’t going to pay anymore until I had them.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “what did she say?” 

“Oh,” Adam says, laughs a little, “she told me I was ungrateful and disgusting, and that I was a heartless fuck for abandoning her like this, and that she didn’t raise me to be so suspicious and so uncaring and greedy. Something about Scrooge, I think, and about thinking myself above my station.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says. 

“So,” Adam says, “I told her again that I would pay the bills as soon as I had them. She just had to send them to me.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

“I gave her my post address,” Adam says, “and she hung up on me. So, either she’ll send me the bills and it’ll be true that I’m a miserly fuck, or she won’t, and it’ll be true that she’s a conniving shithole of a parent.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says. 

“Don’t be,” Adam says, “I’m used to this. It’s not news to me.” 

“No,” Ronan says, struggles with his words, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you were doing that. I wanted to help you. And,” he adds, “no matter how it turns out, you’re not a miserly fuck.” 

“I appreciate that,” Adam says, “do you want takeaway or do you wanna eat in?” 

“Fuck,” Ronan snorts, “takeaways.” 

“Thank God,” Adam says. 

 

-

 

“So,” Ronan says once they’re back at Adam’s. Noah had been in the kitchen when they arrived, took one look at the both of their faces, took his keys from Adam, kissed Ronan on the cheek, and announced he was going to a mate’s.

“So?” Adam asks, he’s grabbing plates as if they’re civilised people, as if eating Mcdonalds off of plates somehow means it’s not Mcdonalds that they’re eating off of plates. 

“You doing ok?” Ronan asks, “I mean, can I do anything?” 

“I think you have enough on your plate,” Adam says lightly, puts the non metaphorical plates down on the table, and pulls the bag of grease towards him, “I’m fine.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan says, “you can’t insist on looking after me and then turn around and not let me look after you. I want to. I want to help you. I want to be here for you. What do you want, Adam? What do you need?” 

Adam doesn’t say anything, just carefully takes their burgers out of their containers, and plates them. Then Ronan’s fries, then his chicken nuggets, then their pathetic looking salads. He pushes Ronan’s plate over towards him, drops himself down in the chair next to him. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says slowly, tightly, as if he’s having to hold himself together just to speak, “because all I can think about is how all I’ve ever wanted was to not be their kid. All I ever needed was to get out.” He’s speaking to his plate, not looking at Ronan. 

“Ok,” Ronan says, shuffles his chair round the corner of the table until it knocks against Adam’s, “hey,” he says, takes Adam’s hand in his, “so we won’t talk about it. If you ever do wanna, though, then I’ll listen. And if you want something, I’ll give it to you.” 

Adam squeezes his hand back, finally looks up at him to smile weakly. “I want you,” he says. 

“Sap,” Ronan says, Adam’s smile becomes less weak. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“I want you too,” Ronan tells him. 

Jane curls her way around their ankles, leaps up from under the table onto Ronan’s lap, and meows like a pterodactyl. 

“Jane wants Mcdonalds,” Adam says. 

“Jane isn’t getting Mcdonalds,” Ronan replies, pushes his plate away from the edge of the table, then strokes Jane, “just pats.” 

 

-

 

“We’re seriously going to watch a movie?” Ronan asks incredulously while Adam hooks his laptop up to the projector, “You’re not going to do any homework? Study?” 

“Nope,” Adam says, “I’m going to watch some funny movies and cuddle with my boyfriend and my cat, and finish all my shit in a panic tomorrow.” 

“Sounds like a good move to me,” Ronan says agreeably, holds his arm out to Adam who settles down next to him with mouse in his hand, “hey,” 

“Uh-huh?” 

“Can we watch that movie we watched most of that Noah turned off?” 

“The Fall?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “that one. I’ve been thinking about it on and off for like, well, since that night.” 

“Um,” Adam says, “yeah sure, I think he put it on my computer as well afterwards, said I should watch it sometime, but I hadn’t gotten round to it.” 

“Cool,” Ronan says, watches as Adam clicks about in his files.

“Before we do, though,” Adam says, “is this - we never really talked about the first time we watched this.” 

“No,” Ronan says, had been half hoping Adam would just leave that scab be. 

“We don’t have to now,” Adam says, “if you don’t want to. But if you do, I want to hear.” 

He looks so serious, so earnest about this, that Ronan can’t imagine not telling him now. 

“Last year,” Ronan says flatly, “when Noah still lived with Gans and me, when I was still… doing drugs, and racing with Kavinsky, I -” 

He doesn’t know how much background he needs to give here. How much Adam will want. If Adam will look at him differently after this. Decides it’s better to just get it out and clear right away. 

“I tried to kill myself,” he says, “I - uh - I purposely overdosed. Then. Slit my wrists.” 

He pauses here to take in Adam’s expression. Adam is staring at him, horror obvious. Ronan clears his throat, continues.

“I was too high, and too - too tired to really think it through,” he says, “I did it in my bedroom. Noah found me before I could - could bleed out or whatever - called the ambulance. And I lived, obviously. Spent a few months in a psychiatric hospital until they decided I wasn’t going to just step in front of a bus as soon as they let me go. Noah moved out after that. I moved into his old bedroom, Gansey turned my old bedroom into a storage room. I - yeah.” 

He’s said a lot more than he had intended to. Thinks he hasn’t done a very good job of explaining it even though he’s said so much. Adam isn’t saying anything, so Ronan continues, voice rising a bit. 

“Apparently there’s a suicide attempt in the movie,” he says, “Noah was worried it would trigger me. Which is fair. I think it would have triggered him too.” 

“I’m-” Adam says, looks entirely lost for words for a long moment, then reaches out and takes Ronan’s hand, “I’m so fucking glad you’re still here,” he says, “and - and thank you for telling me, for - for trusting me -” 

“Hey,” Ronan says, knows that if Adam sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, Ronan sounds like he fell off the verge a while back, “I’m - I want you to know all of me,” he says, “I’m just sorry that so much of me is so shitty.” 

“You’re not,” Adam sniffs, “fuck, Ro, fuck, y’know how I said you were the prettiest thing I ever fucking touched? I just - you’re not shitty. Shitty things have happened to you. Are happening to you. But you’re so fucking good.” 

“You’re fucking good,” Ronan sniffs back, is vaguely amused that they’re both sitting here crying and swearing compliments at each other, “you’re so fucking good I can’t believe you’re with me.” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ dumb,” Adam says, wipes at his eyes, and then at Ronan’s, “I love you.” 

“Even though I made you cry?” 

“Yes, asshole, even though you made me cry.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, lifts his hands to cover Adam’s, still on his face. 

“You’re ok, now?” Adam asks, then sighs, “I mean, you’re not -”

“I’m not going to try again,” Ronan says, tries to say it as confidently as possible, “I’m not - obviously I’m not ok, but I’m not - I’m not going to do that, Adam.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, tips forward so he can press his forehead to Ronan’s, “I’m really - really glad, babe. You - um - you sure you wanna watch this movie?” 

Ronan snorts, wraps his arm tightly around Adam, “Yeah,” he says, “I looked up the synopsis at home. It has a reasonably happy ending. I wanna watch it.” 

“Ok,” Adam says again, “so long as you’re comfortable.” 

“So long as you’re comfortable,” Ronan retorts, “you’re the one just had a fucking - fucking sledgehammer dropped on them.” 

“Mm,” Adam says, kisses his cheek, “I - I wasn’t expecting that, no. I’ve - I’ve seen your scars, but I wasn’t sure.” 

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbles, “for letting me tell you about it when I was ready to.” 

“Of course,” Adam says. 

This entire conversation might be ridiculously uncomfortable, but at least Adam isn’t running away. At least Adam isn’t looking at him like he’s weak, or crazy. At least Ronan doesn’t feel like he needs to get out of here. He’s fine, he’s happy in fact, to stay here pressed against Adam’s side, even with his cheeks damp and salty. 

“I want popcorn,” he mumbles, and Adam laughs, pulls away a little.

“Ok,” he says, “let’s make popcorn. And then watch movies. Do you want a drink too? We could make thickshakes, or we have beer in the fridge.” 

“If you have vodka,’ Ronan suggests, climbing off of the couch after Adam, “we could make hard thickshakes.”

“I think we have some, yeah,” Adam says, “let’s go look then.” 

-

Things are ok. They’re not terribly awkward after that. They make their thickshakes, they watch The Fall. Jane jumps from lap to lap and tries to eat their popcorn. They start watching some other random tv show that Noah put on Adam’s laptop, but Adam’s too tipsy to concentrate, and Ronan can’t concentrate on it either when Adam’s kissing his neck, so they give up on it entirely. 

“Is this ok?” Adam mumbles against Ronan’s stomach. The both of them are sprawled out across the couch, Adam wedged between Ronan’s knees, slowly sliding his shirt up to reveal more skin to kiss, Ronan with his head hanging off the end of the couch, trying to persuade Jane that now was not a good time for cat kisses. 

“Yes,” he pants, “go away Jane.” 

Adam laughs against Ronan’s ribs, a very tickly experience, then kisses up them a little further, sliding his hands up Ronan’s sides before saying, “should we go to my room? Shut Jane out?” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, Jane licks his cheek, “yes please.” 

“‘Kay,” Adam says happily, sitting up on Ronan’s legs, and holding his hand out to Ronan to tug him back upright. Then gets a little distracted because Ronan’s face is right there for kissing.

“Mm,” Ronan says again a few moments later, “babe,” he mumbles, “babe, bedroom, c’mon, not in front of the cat.” 

“Mhm,” Adam says, kisses him again, sloppy, and lets Ronan pull the both of them off of the couch, “why’re you more sober’n me?” 

“Hm,” Ronan snorts, lets Adam lean heavily against his shoulder as they make their way to his bedroom, “why’re you so tipsy?” 

“Don’ drink much,’ Adam says with a shrug, makes a noise that’s very close to a giggle as Ronan drops him down on his bed, “come kiss me.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, kneels down by the bed first to take Adam’s shoes off, “but only kissing, yeah?” 

“Aw,” Adam says to the ceiling, “babe.” 

“I’m not doing anything when you’re drunk,” Ronan says firmly, chucks one shoe at the door to shut it. The shoe ricochets off the edge of the door and lands somewhere near the wardrobe but the door doesn’t shut. 

“I’m not drunk,” Adam protests, doing an almost passable impression of a sober person, “am tipsy.” Less passable. 

Ronan chucks the other shoe at the door, hits it properly this time, and the door slams shut. Jane meows angrily about it from somewhere in the house. 

“Still,” Ronan says, stands up to step on the heels of his shoes so he can step out of them, “I’m not comfortable with it.” 

Adam squints at him a moment, the alcohol making his eyes a little bleary, then he nods, wriggles further back on the bed. “Kissin’ though?” he asks, and Ronan grins, climbs onto the bed after him to hold himself up on his hands and knees over him. 

“Yeah,” he says, kisses him. 

 

-

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says first thing in the morning, “ugh fuck.” 

“I don’t like this new response to waking up next to me,” Adam grumbles from beside him, half underneath the pillow Ronan’s lying on, “what’s wrong?” 

“No it’s just,” Ronan says, lifts up on his elbow so he can pull the pillow away, then drops back down onto Adam’s chest, “I forgot.” 

“Forgot what?” Adam prompts, groans as he shifts under Ronan’s weight so he can wrap his arm around Ronan, “God, my head hurts.” 

“You’re a lightweight,” Ronan sneers, presses a kiss to Adam’s shoulder, “I forgot. Kavinsky stole my fucking car.” 

“He what?” Adam asks, snaps his head round to look at Ronan, “the fuck?” 

“I know,” Ronan moans, “and I forgot to ask Declan to keep me updated about it because I was too busy thinking about getting Mcdonalds with you.” 

Adam snorts, squeezes Ronan’s shoulder, “you’re an idiot,” he says fondly. 

“I can’t help it,” Ronan says, sighs, can’t help himself either, “I’m in love.” 

Adam stills against him. Ronan swallows hard. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, “and probably overthinking about it, but,” he shrugs, “I think I love you. I feel I love you.”

“Oh,” Adam says. His voice is very small. 

“And I’m not just… just saying this because I’m uncomfortable with not being able to say it back to you,” Ronan hurries on, slowly gaining momentum. He turns in Adam’s arms a little so he can meet Adam’s gaze. “I’m scared about fucking this up, but I’m also scared about not telling the truth, and the truth is that everytime you touch me I want to tell you that I’m in love with you.” 

Horrifyingly, Adam’s eyes are filling with tears, and his hand on Ronan’s shoulder is shaking. 

“Baby,” Ronan says, lifts his hand to cup Adam’s cheek, “hey, uh - what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Adam sniffs, presses forward against Ronan’s hand, “nothing’s wrong - I just - God. I don’t know why I’m so-” 

“It’s ok,” Ronan says, “it’s - I do mean it, you know.” 

Adam laughs weakly, “I know,” he says, “I think I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

“Ok,” Adam says, “I love you.” 

For some reason, this is more embarrassing to hear when he knows he gets to say it back. He blushes, ducks his head down against Adam’s neck, “I love you too,” he mumbles. 

“Um, so,” Adam says, kisses the side of Ronan’s head, “your car?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “he texted the other day with some bullshit about how I shouldn’t leave my car unattended, and then yesterday, it was just fucking gone.” 

“Huh,” Adam says, “has this been reported?” 

“I think so,” Ronan sighs, “I- ha. I’m not really very involved in any of this, Adam. I mean, it all fucking revolves around my fuck ups, but I’m just - just doing a fuckload of talking, and Declan and Grant are fucking organising everything. I’m kind of useless here.” 

“I think it’s better this way,” Adam says firmly, “you don’t need to be involved in all the logistics. Do you want to be?” 

“Not really,” Ronan admits, sighs, wishes he could just fucking melt in against Adam and stop having to pilot his own body, “but I fucking hate not being in control.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “I get that, babe.”

“Hey,” Ronan says, fiddles with the edge of the pillow case by Adam’s shoulder, “let’s just fucking run away and live on a farm and I’ll be your sugar baby and paint your cat pictures.” 

Adam laughs a little, pulls Ronan harder against him. “Ok,” he says, “so will be the pictures be of my cat or for my cat?” 

“Both.” 

“Ok, cool,” Adam says, yawns, stretches, “can we have breakfast and let me do my homework before we run away?” 

“Sure.” 

 

-

 

Saturday  
11:06 (am)  
>Ronan we’ve been receiving some very telling text messages from Kavinsky. Grant and Kelly think we should take everything in today. Can you be at Grant’s office in half an hour? 

11:08  
-Do I have to?

11:08  
>Yes. 

11:09  
-Any news on my car? 

11:09  
>Maybe. You’ll have to come here to find out.   
>I called Gansey. You’re not at home? 

11:10  
-I’m with Adam. 

11:10  
>He can come too if you want. 

11:11  
-I’ll get Gans to come pick me up. 

11:11  
>We’re going to need to tell Matthew before we do this. 

 

-

 

6:09 (pm)   
-I’m staying at Declan’s flat tonight

6:10  
~Ok babe. Did everything go ok? 

6:11  
-I guess.  
-We don’t really know yet.  
-Kavinsky’s lawyer hasn’t called for a meeting with Grant yet. 

6:11  
~It’s going to be ok, darling. 

6:12  
-It’d be more ok if someone could just put me in a coma until this is over. 

6:13  
~Do you need anything? 

6:14  
-This to all be over.   
-This to not have happened.

6:16  
~I’m sorry, I’m fresh out of those. 

6:17  
-I don’t know what to do.

6:18  
~About what?

6:18  
-Just in general. I’m so tired. I’ve had to make fucking statements all day.   
-And Matthew is here,  
-And he’s so upset.  
-ANd I don’t know how to comfort him when I don’t know how to comfort myself either.

6:19  
~That’s really hard, babe. But that’s what your support is there for. Gansey’s still there, yeah? So’s Declan. Let them look after y’all. Ok?

6:20  
-I don’t want to be comforted. 

6:20  
~Why?

6:21  
-everyone here is tired and upset. I can’t offer them any fucking comofrt so why do i deserve it? 

6:23  
~Baby, that’s not true, and I think you know that. Just because you don’t have the mental/emotional/physical capacity right now to give comfort out does not mean you don’t deserve it. This is your family. They want to be looking after you, even if you feel like you have nothing to give right now. Let them look after you. 

6:30  
~Ronan, please. 

6:35  
~You don’t deserve to be feeling as crap as you are. 

6:37  
-I know this in theory.   
-I’m just having fucking trouble making myself put it into ufcking practive. 

6:38  
~Can I call? 

6:41  
-Sure. 

-

“Hey,” Adam’s voice is hushed, like he’s trying not to be heard, the low hum of background noise behind him blurring the edges of his voice. “Baby, talk to me.” 

“Where are you?” Ronan asks, covers the mic so he can sniff loudly without blasting Adam’s one and only working eardrum. “Are you at work?” 

“It’s not busy,” Adam says, “I’m at Poldma’s. It’s fine.” 

“It sounds busy,” Ronan objects, can hear clinking, thinks Adam is probably near the kitchen, “should you be on the phone right now?” 

“Yes,” Adam says firmly, “I should be, because my boyfriend is being an idiot, and also he’s upset.” 

“I’m not being an idiot.” 

“You are,’ Adam says, “I get why you are, and I understand it, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re being one.” 

“If this is your version of comfort,” Ronan grumbles, “I don’t like it.” 

“I’m not very good at comfort,” Adam says, “I’m better at saying what you need to hear.” 

“What do I need to hear?” 

“That it’s ok to be an idiot,” Adam says, there’s a little bit of fumbling, like he’s switching hands to hold the phone, “that it’s ok to be upset. That it’s ok to not be able to give back. None of those things are who you are, it’s what’s happening to you right now. You’re not going to be an idiot forever, or upset, and you’ll give back again soon. Right now, what you need, is to let Gansey, or Matthew, or even Declan, give you a fucking hug, because I know you want it.” 

“I don’t,” Ronan whispers. 

“There isn’t any point in lying to me or yourself about this,” Adam says, “I promise, that if you go to Gansey and ask for a fucking hug, he’s going to want one too. So, you’ll even be giving back.” 

“Mm.” Ronan says. 

“Where are you?” Adam asks, “Why aren’t you with them now, anyway?” 

“I’ve locked myself in the bathroom,” Ronan mumbles, “said I was taking a shower.” 

“You’re going to worry them if you stay in there,” Adam says flatly, “Ro, I know this is hard.” 

“You don’t,” Ronan says, chokes a little on his words, “you don’t know how they’re looking at me, Adam.” 

“Babe-” 

“They heard my fucking statements,” Ronan says, “I - they sat there and fucking listened to me saying - saying everything. It’s worse. It’s worse than them seeing the photos. The photos don’t fucking feel like me because - because - because I can’t fucking even remember them being fucking taken, but detailing every shitting thing fucking Grant thought I should include - that’s all me -that’s all my memories - that’s-” 

“Breathe,” Adam is saying, voice soft and steady in Ronan’s ear, “baby, pause a moment, breathe with me. C’mon.” 

Ronan gasps in a rattling breath at Adam’s words, then sniffs loudly, tries to pace his inhales and exhales with Adam’s slow and careful ones. 

“Ok,” Adam says, what feels like hours later, but is less than 100 breaths, “darling.” 

“I don’t want,” Ronan says, “for them to look at me and imagine him doing that to me.” 

“They’re not,” Adam says, “they’re going to look at you and see their brother, their friend, they’re going to see you.” 

“Their brother and friend getting fucking fu-” 

“No,” Adam interrupts, “Ronan, listen. I know it’s different, but they didn’t do that after they saw the photos. They didn’t just cut you down into ‘Ronan who got raped’. They’re not doing that now either.” 

“What if-” Ronan starts, cuts himself off because he just wants Adam to tell him there is no what if here. 

“No ‘what if’’s,” Adam says agreeably.

“It’s better in the bathroom,” Ronan tries. 

“Baby,” Adam says. 

“I’ll go out,” Ronan says, sighs. 

“Ring me if you need to, or want to,” Adam says, “or if there are any developments.’ 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “tell me you love me.” 

“I love you, Ronan.” 

“Again?” 

“Baby. I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Go hug Gansey.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

 

-

 

Gansey is standing outside the bathroom. He looks a little embarrassed to be caught out, but not as embarrassed as he ought to be.

“Are you doing alright?” Gansey asks. 

“I’ve been better,” Ronan says, keeps his eyes low so Gansey can’t make eye contact with him. 

“Did it help talking with Adam?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, sighs, “Gans,” he says, “is Matty ok?” 

“Matty’s fine,” Gansey says, pushes away from the wall he’d been leaning against, and steps towards Ronan, reaches out to grip him by his upper arm and his chin, tugs his head up to look him in the eye. “He’s just worried about you. Because he loves you. Same as Declan. And me.” 

“I know,” Ronan says, shuts his eyes instead, “it’s too much,” 

“Declan suggests ordering pizza,” Gansey says, lets Ronan shuffle himself forwards into Gansey’s arms, “and a fuck load of garlic bread, and watching some comedy show that Matthew likes.” 

“Ok,” Ronan mumbles, “but you’re not allowed to choose the pizza.” 

“Funnily enough,” Gansey sighs, “Matthew’s already forbidden me from that, so don’t worry.” 

 

-

 

9:07  
-You were right. 

9:11  
~I try to be  
~;)   
~Are you feeling better? 

9:14  
-Kind of. 

9:16  
~Can I do anything for you? 

9:20  
-I just want you.   
-but also I don’t think I want you to spend the night at my brother’s with me because we would never hear the end of it.   
-and i want you to meet matthew at a better occasion. 

9:25  
~Ok xxxx Whatever you need, ok? 

9:26  
-What about you?

9:29  
~What about me?

9:32  
-You doing ok?   
-You’re having a shit time lately too.  
-Our conversations don’t always have to be about me and my trauma.   
-We could even talk about random shit. 

9:35  
~I”m doing fine. Honestly. Blue made quiche and brought it to me at uni today, which was really nice, and my work shifts have been really easy going.   
~You don’t need to worry about me right now. 

9:37  
-maybe I don’t need to, but I”m going to anyway. 

9:40  
~When we run away, what’s our house going to look like?

9:42  
-It’ll be small, but on a big piece of land with lots of trees and enough space for cows and the wallpaper will be peeling a little bit but it’ll still be nice looking and it own’t be damp and the floors’ll be wood and i’ll have a attic loft to paint in and the cats will sleep up there because it’ll be warm and sunny cos we’ll have a sun roof and there’ll be a lavender patch outside and it’ll always smell great in the house because of it. 

9:47  
~Oh wow  
~I wasn’t expecting such an indepth answer  
~I want apple trees too. And a barn dog. And a garage to tinker with shit in. 

9:48  
-A swimming hole in easy walking distance and a veggie garden that im supposed to be looking after but always forget about and a small fireplace

9:50  
~A big kitchen table, wide windows, and a bath. 

9:52  
-I want to go to bed with you. 

9:53  
~xxx  
~Maybe tomorow? 

10:01  
-I’m actuallyu going to go to bed now. I”m so tired.

10:04  
~Good idea.  
~I love you, darling. Sleep well. X 

10:05  
-love you x

 

-

 

Sunday  
3:09 (pm)  
-Can you come get me  
-Plase  
-Please

3:14  
~Babe what’s going on?  
~I can.  
~I just have to run home and get Noah’s car  
~Where are you?

3:14  
-Declan’s. 

3:16  
~I’ll be there in about 30 minutes. Is that ok?

3:16  
-Yes. 

3:17  
~What’s going on?

3:20  
~Ro?

3:25  
~(incoming call)

3:36  
~Baby you’re really worrying me  
~I’m just leaving now.

3:54  
~I’m here  
~Do you want me to come in?  
~Ro

3:55  
-Sorry i’m coming now.

 

-

 

“Hey,” Adam says as soon as Ronan pushes the passenger side door open, “what’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Ronan mumbles as he folds himself down into the seat after chucking a backpack into the footwell. He tugs the seat belt on, and presses himself against the car window. 

“Ro,” Adam says, reaches his hand out, but doesn’t touch, “what happened?” 

“Nothing,” Ronan repeats, listens as Adam sighs, frustrated. “Fuck,” he mumbles, “it’s just - look. I’m just over-reacting. Nothing unexpected happened. I’m just - I just had this stupid hope that this would be easy.” 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says eventually, and Ronan sighs this time. It’s just a car full of frustration at this point. 

“No,” Ronan says, “just - can we - fuck. I’m sorry for fucking pulling you out of work, I can - you could just drop me off at mine and go back to work.” 

“Don’t be a shit head,” Adam says flatly. This time when he reaches out he takes hold of Ronan’s arm, grips him firmly, “I’m not going to just leave you alone. I could take you back to work with me if you want. Or back to my flat. Or yours. Whatever you want.” 

“You working at the mechanics?” 

“Yes.” 

“Take me to work with you?” 

 

-

 

There isn’t really anything for Ronan to do while Adam’s half underneath the ute he’s working on. Other than sitting cross legged on the floor against the wall watching Adam’s foot twitch in time to the music rustling out of the radio, that is. This is a good thing. Because Ronan doesn’t want to do anything. Doesn’t want to think anything. Doesn’t want to be looked at, or asked questions, or exist. 

After they’d arrived at Adam’s work, Adam had explained it was just him working, and that Ronan could chill out it in the garage with him like they’d done before, and that if he wanted anything to just ask, and then he’d rolled himself under the ute and shut up. Ronan had yanked his jacket off, chucked it onto the dirty ground, and then sat on it, more to keep his ass from freezing than from getting dirty. He’d prefer to be under the ute with Adam, really, wants to be closer to him, but he knows he wouldn’t be any use, he’d just get in the way. He’d left his phone in the backpack in Noah’s car, parked outside, can imagine it buzzing with incoming calls and texts he’s planning on continuing to ignore. 

“Grant doesn’t think Kavinsky’s lawyer will be able to even get him a plea deal,” Ronan says, long after his ass has gone completely numb from the hardness and chill of the ground, “he thinks the case is completely sold in our favour.” 

Adam is silent for a while, he’s been clinking around with something that’s been making the same rough rattly noise for the last five or some minutes, and he doesn’t reply until the noise becomes a low hum instead. 

“Good,” he says, “do you not agree with him?” 

“Theoretically I agree with him.” 

Adam doesn’t reply. He’s waiting for Ronan to continue. So Ronan does. 

“It’s just -” Ronan says, wishes he was more eloquent. Gansey can always sound so put together, so earnest when he speaks, even if he’s just talking about tea. Adam, though he converses so colloquially, he can turn a switch on and become lawyer Parrish, Ronan had seen that at the law party, had seen it in his study patterns. Declan basically came out of the womb with the ability to be coherent and firm. Ronan feels like he only knows how to get his emotions out through violence and half stuttered sentences. Feels like no matter how long he tries to piece together a sentence in his head it is always going to come out feeling staged and broken. 

“It’s just,” Ronan continues, trying again, “knowing that he’s defending himself. Knowing that he knows what I’m doing. It feels like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m the one lying. Like he’s going to win, because he’s actually telling the truth, he’s the victim. I’m over-reacting and taking it too far - he was just - just misread what I wanted, and it’s my fault, so-” 

Adam is pushing himself out from under the ute, wiping his grubby hands on the pants of his equally dirty coveralls, and walking on his knees the short distance to Ronan so he can wrap himself around the curled up knot Ronan is attempting to become. 

“Ronan,” he says, voice rough, “he’s not the victim. You’re doing nothing wrong.” He’s pressing against the small of Ronan’s back until Ronan uncurls himself from his knees so he can wrap his arms around Adam instead, so Adam can pull him in an ungainly mess onto his lap. “I know how easy it to feel like this is your fault. To feel like you’ve just built something up in your head. But everyone around you, Gansey, Declan, Noah, Blue, me. We’ve seen the evidence that it isn’t. We’ve heard you talk about it, seen what it’s done to you. If you can’t believe yourself that he is the one in the wrong, believe us. What he did to you, it’s not your fault. What you’re doing now is brave, and fair.” 

Ronan doesn’t bother replying. He doesn’t think he has anything worth replying with. Doesn’t want to run his mouth ragged letting his tongue spill off arguments and self-deprecation. Just presses himself harder against Adam, holds him tighter until his muscles ache with it. It must hurt, being held so tightly, but Adam just holds him tightly back, doesn’t complain. Rubs his hand up and down Ronan’s back, presses kisses to Ronan’s nape, to the crown of his head, to his temple. 

“I’ll be done here very soon,” Adam says, “I just have a few more adjustments to make. Where do you want to go after this?” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan mumbles, rubs his face against the shoulder of Adam’s coverall to add his snot and tears to the greasy grime there, probably actually just adds grease and grime to his snotty and tear covered face. 

“Does Gansey know you’re with me?” Adam asks, he’s pulling back a little from Ronan so he can fumble with the zip at the front of his coveralls. 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, doesn’t want to be even the few inches away from Adam that Adam requires to undo the front of the coveralls, “and Declan. Everybody knows. They were there when I left.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, pinches the fabric of the t-shirt he’s wearing under his coveralls, and uses it to wipe Ronan’s face clean, “did you tell any of them why you were so upset?” 

“No,” Ronan says. Adam’s dropped his t-shirt again, is tugging Ronan back against his shoulder. “I don’t think I really knew. And they were just - they were just - they kept fucking talking about the session today, and about what K’s fucking lawyer said, and what Grant said, and- they wouldn’t shut up.” 

“Ah,” Adam says, quiet, strokes Ronan’s head, “it’s fucking overwhelming,” he agrees, “having to hear your case and his case side by side so casually and so consistently.” 

“I hate it,” Ronan says, he’s getting new snot and tears on Adam’s t-shirt now. “I don’t understand why they want to talk about it so much.” 

“Tell them,” Adam suggests, “they won’t if you let them know how much it hurts you.” 

“It doesn’t hurt me,” Ronan says stupidly, reconsiders, “it does, but it’s such a stupid thing to fucking say.” 

“It isn’t,” Adam says calmly, “it really isn’t. It’s not uncommon, baby, not wanting court to follow you out of court. Especially when it’s so personal.” 

“Why,” Ronan sniffs, “are you studying law when you don’t want to be a lawyer?” 

“What?” Adam asks, he sounds vaguely amused, “What makes you say that?” 

“You don’t like doing law,” Ronan says, “you don’t - you don’t really say it, but - you hate interacting with other law students, and - you - I don’t know, Adam, I feel like you just don’t want to be doing it.” 

“Well,” Adam mumbles, “I guess I don’t, not really. But I don’t hate it.” 

“Why then,” Ronan says again, “why are you studying it?” 

“Because,” Adam says, “I want to help people, and I want to make money. That’s basically it, and, the biggest help I got was from pro-bono lawyers. I wanted to be able to make the difference they made in my life for someone else. But - now that I’m doing it, I know what I really wanted was to - I don’t know, Ro.” 

“Was to what?” Ronan pushes. It’s easier not to cry when Adam’s not telling him sweet things. 

“I wish I was studying engineering,” Adam admits, it sounds a bit like he’s grinning, “biomechanics, or fuck, I don’t know. I want to do something with my hands. I even wish sometimes I was studying medicine. So I could be hands on helping, not spending all my time with fussy fuckers.” 

Ronan sniffs a bit, wipes his face again on Adam’s shirt, tugging his shirt up so he can wipe his eyes. “You’ll get to be hands on as a lawyer once you pass the bar,” he says softly, “or you could always drop out and start uni again doing something you actually like.” 

“Please,” Adam snorts, “I can’t do that. What a waste of time and money that would be.” 

“If you ran away with me to our small farm house,” Ronan says, “we’d have nothing but time, and I have money enough to pay for you to do whatever you like.” 

Adam stiffens a little, his tone is still soft and a little jokey though; “Thought I was going to be the sugar daddy?” he asks, “Isn’t that what you said?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “but I’m willing to change my mind if necessary.” 

“Well,” Adam says, doesn’t bother telling Ronan that there’s no way in fuck he’d just take Ronan’s money, because they both know he’s thinking it, “I think I can make enough difference in law. So.” 

“So,” Ronan says. “Finish working on the ute so you can take me home.” 

“Bossy,” Adam snorts, deposits Ronan back on the floor, and starts shuffling back towards the car. “Which home am I taking you to?” he asks, “Mine or yours?” 

“Mine,” Ronan says after a few moments, “if that’s ok.” 

“Sure,” Adam agrees easily, “want me to stay over?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says emphatically, “please.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, still easy. 

“Can I borrow your phone?” Ronan asks, “I don’t want to go outside to grab mine.” 

“Go ahead,” Adam says, he’s on his hands and knees beside the ute, sorting through a collection of tools before he goes back under it, “it’s in my back pocket.” 

“Risque,” Ronan snorts, bum-shuffles on his jacket across the floor to Adam, pats Adam’s ass, and then retrieves the phone from the pocket. “You need to get a new, non-brick phone,” he announces, leaning against Adam’s hips and he clicks the phone on.

“Brick phones are good for sitting on and not breaking,” Adam says flatly, finds the tool he’s looking for, and pushes Ronan gently to one side as he shifts to get back under the ute, “and nicely cheap. I don’t need much out of a phone.” 

“You need more memory on your phone,” Ronan reminds him, “for cat pics.” 

He calls Gansey. 

 

-

 

“Oh, Adam,” Gansey answers, he sounds flustered, and also like he’s stuck in traffic somewhere, “I’m so glad you called - Ronan’s not answering his phone, and I know he’s with you so he’s almost certainly just fine, but I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m worried, and-” 

“Dick face,” Ronan snaps, “it’s me.” 

He hears Adam cough, almost certainly a hidden scoff, from under the car. 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “oh, Ronan, God. You scared me, you know,” he says sternly, “us. You scared us.” 

“I was with Adam,” Ronan says stiffly, “you just said you were almost certain I was fine, and I am. So I don’t know why you’d be worried.” 

“Because you were all but catatonic when you left!” Gansey exclaims, dramatic. He honks a little as well, whether to emphasise his drama, or at another car, Ronan’s not sure. 

“I told you I was going with Adam,” Ronan says, “that’s barely catatonic.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, tone changing from loud and frustrated to quiet and frustrated. Ronan hates it when Gansey changes his tone like that. Because it means he’s bringing out his family Gansey voice, the one handed down to him from his parents, handed down to them from their parents. The, I know best, voice. Ronan hates it so much, because Gansey is usually right that he does know best. 

“Dick,” Ronan snaps back. 

“I know-” Gansey starts, cuts himself off to sigh, “-I know this is difficult, and very much un-charted territory for you, for both of us, but-” 

“No,” Ronan interrupts, “this isn’t what I called about.” 

Gansey huffs, but he stays silent, an obvious invitation for Ronan to continue. 

“I can’t-” Ronan grunts, shifts backwards so he can press his spine back against the wall, “-I can’t bear -” even with his talk with Adam about this, he still doesn’t seem to have enough practice down here to say what he’s trying to say, “-I know you all think this is in the fucking bag,” he starts roughly, hears Gansey inhale as if he’s about to butt in with a ‘but we do!’, and presses on hurriedly. “But,” he says, “I don’t - I can’t - everytime I fucking even think about this fucking - this fucking case, I feel like I’m going to throw up. Or die. I can handle it - like just fucking barely - I can cope with it when we’re actually doing it, but when we’re not? I can’t. I just can’t. It scares me so much. So fucking much, Gans. I can’t sit around thinking about this or i'm going to go insane.” 

Gansey’s quiet for a long time. Ronan would almost think the call had accidentally dropped if it wasn’t for the fact that he could still hear the traffic. Then Gansey sniffs a little, and Ronan almost wishes the call had dropped. 

“Ok,” Gansey says, it’s barely a whisper, “I’m sorry. I know we’ve been - I knew you didn’t want to be talking about it all the time, it’s just - no. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t fucking flagellate yourself,” Ronan groans, “I’m just - look, I fucking know you and Declan need to like, fucking decompress every fucking thing that happens, and that’s fine. I just can’t. I can’t be there for that. You guys do fucking whatever, but I can’t be there. I can’t.” He’s repeating himself like an idiot, but it feels very important to get this out, to make it very clear. 

“Ok,” Gansey says again, clears his throat, “Ro, just - Ro. Are you going to Adam’s tonight?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “Adam’s staying at ours. That’s fine, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Gansey says, effusive, “for dinner?” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, “we’ll be home soonish, I guess.” 

“Right,” Gansey says, “I’m glad you’re alright. I’ll be home when you get here.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “was Declan upset?” 

Gansey’s silent again, then he sighs loudly. “I’m not sure,” he says slowly, “you know how he is.” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “ok.” 

He hangs up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW. Physical violence/Kavinsky/blood

They go by Adam’s first. He wants to pick up a change of clothes and have a quick shower before they go back to Ronan’s, plus he needs to feed Jane. Ronan very much wants to go cuddle Jane as well, so this works very well for him. 

Adam is in the shower when it happens. Ronan barely thinks anything of it. Adam’s busy, no one else is home, the knocking on the door is most likely Noah or Blue having forgotten their keys. Having lived with Noah, and having known him for a large chunk of their lives, him having forgotten his keys is extremely likely. So. Ronan opens the door, because that makes sense. He’s in a safe place, he thinks he knows who is on the other side of the door. He opens it. 

“Huh,” Prokopenko says, “that was you in that trash can of a car.” 

Ronan considers closing the door, that would be the sensible thing to do here. But. Being sensible has never really been his strong point. 

“Huh,” he says, “you look uglier than usual, Proko, what’s going on with your face?” 

It’s true. Proko is often littered with small bruises, scrapes and grazes, but today he has a nasty bruise splashed across the majority of his face, bleeding into his eye so the white’s pink and the edges look crusty. 

“You should know,” Proko says, his voice is lazy, doesn’t fit with the violence of his face, “you know best how flaily K’s hands get when he’s pissed off.” 

He does. 

“What do you want?” Ronan snaps, folds his arms, “Or, should I say, what does K fucking want?” 

Proko scoffs at him. “Oh,” he says, “look at you putting up such a tough act now you’re hiding behind your big bro, hm?” 

“What does he want?” 

“He wants,” Proko says slowly, “to let you know that he’s a bit busy today, but next time? There won’t be a messenger.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snorts, “is that supposed to scare me? That’s not even a message.” 

“I wasn’t finished,” Proko snaps back, hand twitching. Ronan represses the urge to step backwards and away. “He wants you to know he’s angry with you, angrier than before, and he’s had enough of teasing. When he comes, there’s not going to be any warning.” 

“Doesn’t this count as a warning?” Ronan snipes, and apparently Proko too is done with teasing, because this is where he strikes out and catches Ronan around the face with his fist. There should have been no way Ronan wouldn’t have blocked that. He’s good at hand to hand fighting, good at brawling, good at defending himself when he’s not too drugged up to react. He’s not drugged up. He should have been able to stop Proko’s fist. Apparently all his energy had been put into standing up straight in front of Proko, in not looking scared. 

Before he can even think about reacting, he’s on the floor, Proko over him, Proko’s booted foot kicking him hard in the stomach, Proko stepping into the open door of the flat to get better aim, to kick him in the ribs next. He considers reaching out and catching Proko’s foot as it comes to him, pulling it off balance. Adam’s there before he can form this considering into a plan. He’s stepping over Ronan’s body in the doorway and shoving Proko by the shoulders, and then while Proko stumbles, putting his foot out and kicking him hard and away. 

“Fuck off,” Adam yells, dripping wet, not even a towel around his waist, a picture of pure fury. He’s all water and muscles and the slamming of the front door. Then he’s dropping to his knees by Ronan’s side, and the thunk of bone to wood sounds like it must have hurt. He’s leaning over Ronan who still hasn’t even attempted to sit up, touching his smarting cheek gently. Ignoring the yelling of Proko on the other side of the door. 

“Ro,” Adam is saying, “baby, fuck, are you ok? Where did he hit you?” 

Ronan attempts to speak, realises just how fucking winded he is from that boot to the stomach, and coughs painfully instead, shakes his head, wonders how terrifying it must have been to be attacked by a naked fury. 

“Who was that?” Adam asks now, his thumb is pressing tentatively to what feels like a graze just over his eyebrow, “Was that Kavinsky?” 

“No,” Ronan breathes out, finally getting his lungs into proper working order again. This unfortunately means that the rest of his body decides it has permission to work properly, and all the pain the adrenaline had been keeping at bay rushes in hard. He hisses, flinches away from the callus of Adam’s hand on his stinging skin. 

“Sorry,” Adam says, pulls his hand away quickly, leaves a damp patch there instead. 

“That was Proko,” Ronan huffs, reaches out to grip onto Adam’s arm to use as a counterbalance to pull himself vaguely upright, “uh - Prokopenko - K’s fucking - lackey. Or whatever. Proko likes to think he’s his right hand man. Right hook man more like, God damn,” he adds. His cheek is throbbing abominably. This is so fucking embarrassing. Adam helps him up, pulls him gently to his feet, pausing when Ronan gasps at the pain in his stomach, but not saying anything when Ronan insists on moving anyway. 

“We should call the police about this,” Adam says once he’s assisted Ronan to the couch, once Ronan’s tentatively perched on the cushions, “this needs to be recorded for the suit. God, what was the asshole thinking?” 

“We need to call Declan,” Ronan corrects, “and he was probably-” he stops to cough again. His lungs were working, but they weren’t working well. “-probably thinking I wouldn’t report this.” 

“He’s an idiot,” Adam hisses. His hands are back at Ronan’s face, more tentative than before as if he’s waiting for Ronan to bat him away. 

“No,” Ronan sighs, lets Adam feel out the shape of what is eventually going to be an impressive bruise, “he’s just taking a gamble on how big my fucking pride is.” 

“Ah,” Adam says, he’s standing up again, pushing himself out of the crouch in front of the couch he’d been in. There’s a puddle under his feet. “I’m going to get the first aid kit, and your phone,” he says, “let’s try and treat that bruise before it blooms.” 

“It’d look better in court,” Ronan mumbles, leans his head back against the back of the couch, “if it looked bad.” 

“It’d hurt more,” Adam retorts, already on his way out of the room, “we don’t need more evidence in exchange for your pain.” 

“I’m already in pain,” Ronan protests, raising his voice to be heard by Adam in the other room. He belatedly realises the shower is still running, only when Adam turns it off. He feels so pathetic. He had let himself be laid out by a man both smaller and less skilled than him. Adam had somehow, with his deaf ear to boot, heard the kerfuffle over the sound of the shower, known Ronan needed him, and came out of nowhere like a soggy avenging angel. 

“Yes exactly,” Adam sighs continuing their short conversation, coming back into the lounge, in what looks like a pair of Blue’s sweatpants low on his his hips (printed with a bright, and quite yonic design, and already bearing wet patches due to Adam’s lack of toweling), carrying a small first aid kit in one hand, and Ronan’s phone in the other. “So let’s try and stop it from hurting, rather than letting it continue to hurt, you dumb ass.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan grumbles. Adam sighs at him again. Sits down next to Ronan on the couch, first aid kit on his knee, holds the phone out to Ronan. Ronan takes it, just holds it. 

“Can you take off your shirt?” Adam asks, “I want to look at your stomach. Where he kicked it,” he adds, as if this needed clarifying. 

“Geez Parrish,” Ronan mumbles, “and here I thought you were just wanting to ogle me.” 

“If sarcasm makes you feel better,” Adam says, takes the lid off of the first aid kit, “so be it. Do you want me to take the shirt off instead?” he tacks on as Ronan makes no move to take his shirt off. 

Ronan shrugs. Adam looks at him carefully, then puts the kit behind him, takes the phone back from Ronan and chucks it over with the kit, then gently lifts Ronan’s shirt from the hem and tugs it cautiously over Ronan’s head, trying not to brush up against the welling bruise on his cheek. 

His skin feels prickly with the weight of Adam’s gaze on him. Which is stupid. He’s been shirtless in front of Adam before. This is nothing. It’s just that now Adam’s looking at him specifically to see the faults, specifically because Ronan’s fucked up, specifically because - 

“I don’t think he’s - uh - ruptured anything,” Adam says slowly, “can I just feel around a bit to make sure?” 

“Whatever,” Ronan says again, “what are you, a fucking doctor?” 

“I have a lot of experience,” Adam says slowly, presses his fingertips against the edges of Ronan’s stomach, “in approximating blunt force damage.” The rest of this explanation doesn’t really need to be said. Ronan’s mind supplies it anyway. He has a lot of experience in checking that injuries from being kicked, from being punched weren’t dangerous because he had spent a large portion of his life checking his own body for it. 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says after a few moments of Adam’s prodding, winces a little. 

“Don’t be,” Adam says, “this wasn’t your fucking fault, you asshole. Did that hurt?” he asks, pressing his fingers in again against a particular tender part of Ronan’s side. 

“Uh,” Ronan grunts, “yes,” he says, “I just got fucking kicked, of course it hurts.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, meets Ronan’s level of sarcasm, presses his fingers in a little harder, “how bad does it hurt?” 

Ronan winces again. It fucking hurts. But, not bad enough that he thinks he ought to be worried. 

“Not badly,” he says. 

“Ok,” Adam says again, shifts his hand so his movement turns from a prod to a slow stroke up his side, “ok, I don’t think you have anything major to worry about. Probably best to get you to a doctor just to be sure though,” he adds, “I’m going to rub some bruise cream just up here,” he says, “and on your face. Ok?” 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

Adam doesn’t immediately move to put the cream on him, spends a few moments just looking tentatively at Ronan. Then he sighs again, turns to get the cream, and spreads it on Ronan’s skin without speaking. 

“Just say it,” Ronan grunts after the silence in partnership with the tickling of Adam’s fingers on his ribs becomes a little unbearable. “I know I fucked up.” 

“What,” Adam says, finishes rubbing the cream into Ronan’s skin, and moves up to Ronan’s face, “the fuck are you talking about? You didn’t fuck up.” 

“God,” Ronan spits, wants to tug away but Adam is holding his chin carefully with one hand while he rubs cream in to his cheek with his thumb. “I fucked up. Prokopenko knew where the hell I was. He came to your flat. You could have gotten hurt, Adam, fuck - I should have been able to defend myself, and instead, instead I was this pathetic, fucked up-” 

“Ronan,” Adam says, his voice is hard, unyielding, cuts through Ronan’s spew of words easily. “Ronan, stop. Why would I- God, you idiot. This isn’t your fault. I’m not - you were taken by surprise, it’s not surprising you couldn’t defend yourself, no one would have expected you to be fucking attacked here, at my house-” 

“You were,” Ronan protests, “you fucking heard me from your shower. Obviously you were on edge - I can’t -”

“I’m naturally suspicious as fuck,” Adam says, “baby please,” his voice isn’t hard anymore, it’s gone a little wavery actually, “this isn’t your fault. Please. Don’t feel bad about this.” 

It’s hard to deny Adam when he talks like this. Like his heart is in his throat. 

“I don’t want to be-” Ronan mumbles, “I just want -” 

He doesn’t know what he wants. No. He does. He wants Adam to put down the fucking pot of bruise cream and just pull Ronan into his arms instead. He wants to be kissed and kissed and then kissed a bit more until he feels like his skin knows comfort more than it knows violence. 

“Hey,” Adam is saying, he is putting the cream down. Caps it carefully first, then turns back to Ronan to rub his hand over Ronan’s cheek again, ostensibly rubbing the remainder of the cream into his skin. “Hey,” he says again, softer, softer still, “there’s no way in hell I would be mad at you over this,” he says, “there’s no way I would blame you for this.” 

“Declan’s going to,” Ronan mumbles, breathes out relief when Adam shifts up in his seat so he can wrap his (still damp) arms around Ronan’s bare shoulders to pull him in close, “Declan’s going to be mad.” 

“Then I’ll call him,” Adam suggests presses his lips gently to Ronan’s brow, “if you want. He can take his madness out on me.” 

“I shouldn’t have talked back,” Ronan says, “I shouldn’t have let him talk to me. I should have shut the door.” 

“Yes,” Adam agrees, doesn’t say this with censure, “you probably should have. But you didn’t, and there’s no point in getting mad over that. “It’s hard to know what to do in the moment.” 

“I knew I should have,” Ronan protests. Adam just kisses him again, soft at his temple, careful at his cheekbone. 

“What did he say to you?” Adam asks. 

“Bullshit,” Ronan sniffs, lifts his head in the hope that Adam’s next kiss would land on his lips, “just bullshit and - he says K’s going to come next. I’m - he said it like K’s just gonna fucking jump me or something.” 

Adam is stiff around him. Like a fucking statue enclosing him in its arms. 

“I’m going to call Declan,” he says firmly, doesn’t let go of Ronan as he reaches around behind himself to feel for the phone, “because this wasn’t just K’s friend trying to get revenge, this is a full fledged fucking threat, and it needs to be reported right now.” 

“I don’t want-” Ronan says, “I just want you to hold me.” 

“I will,” Adam promises, brings the phone up to his face, kisses the edge of Ronan’s jaw, “I can hold you and call at the same time.” 

Ronan isn’t going to cry because his boyfriend is multi-tasking. It’s barely even multi-tasking. That would be a stupid thing to cry about. Everything hurts. 

“I’m not going to let you go,” Adam says, unlocks Ronan’s phone, “I’m going to stay right here with you, baby.” 

He calls Declan. Ronan can hear the noise bleeding out of the speaker, can only just barely make out Declan’s words, just that it’s a greeting to Ronan. 

“Declan,” Adam says, “it’s Adam Parrish. No, Ronan’s fi- well. We’ve just had an incident,” he says, all politic. Pauses a moment for what sounds like a barrage of swearing. “A friend of Kavinsky, Prokopen- --- Yes, Prokopenko, ---- Yes he turned up at the flat, Ronan answered the door to him. ---- No, I was in the shower. ---- Declan, if you want to hear what happened it’d be easier if you’d let me speak- ---- Yes. Prokopenko apparently passed on a threat from Kavinsky that he was going to come after Ronan, and then Prokopenko attacked Rona- ---- God, no. ---- As far as I can discern, he got a kick to the stomach and a punch to the face, but nothing is broken, or even bleeding badly. He has slight grazing. Probably will have quite severe bruising despite the cream we put on ---- no he didn’t want to talk. ---- Yes he is capable of talking, but I’m not putting him on if he doesn’t want to. ---- Yes I agree he ought to go get checked out ASAP. ---- I’ll ask-” 

He presses the phone to his chest, peers down at Ronan who’s wedged in between Adam’s shoulder and chin. “Ro,” he says, “do you want Declan to come round and take you to the hospital or a doctor for a check up?” 

“No,” Ronan says, doesn’t think Adam is at all surprised about this response. “I’ll go tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure?” Adam presses, “I can come with you if you want.” 

“I’m sure,’ Ronan says, “I don’t want to go tonight. I don’t. I don’t.” 

Adam brings the phone back to his ear. “-Not tonight,” he says, “I’ll take him tomorrow. ---- No, I do think this is his decision to make. ---- I know you barely know me, but that’s a little insulting. Of course I will. ---- Right. Bye.” 

“What’s a little insulting?” Ronan mumbles. His face hurts from where he’s pressed in against Adam, but he doesn’t want to move away. Wants Adam to hold him even tighter. 

“He asked if I was going to stay with you,” Adam says calmly, drops the phone back down on the couch cushions and wraps his now free arm around Ronan as well, pulls him closer, “or if I was just going to send you home. Of course I’m going to stay with you.” 

“He’s an idiot,” Ronan says into Adam’s shoulder, “and you’re wet.” 

“Yes, well,” Adam says, “I was in the shower.” 

“I’m wet now too,” Ronan points out. 

“Let’s get changed then,” Adam suggests, “c’mon. Let’s get dressed properly, and then head over to yours, yeah? We probably need to let Gansey know what’s happened as soon as possible as well.” 

“I don’t want to move yet,” Ronan says, clings onto Adam in a probably quite irritating fashion. 

Adam doesn’t sigh irritably. Doesn’t pull away. Just settles back in against the couch cushions and tugs Ronan further into his lap. 

“Blue will be home soon,” he says against the top of Ronan’s head, “and Noah soon after that too.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, closes his eyes, “I won’t take long.” 

“We can take as long as you want,” Adam assures him, “I’m just letting you know.” 

 

-

 

By the time Ronan allows himself to be peeled off the damp couch, Blue is home. She’s a little pissed off at first, about the dampness in the entryway, and then about the wet patch sprawled across the couch cushions, and then very much not at all pissed off when Adam tells her a short version of what happened. 

“Well,” she says, “I’m glad you turned the shower off at least.” 

Ronan snorts. 

“And,” she continues, “I want to see a picture of this fucking asshole so I can go deck him.” 

“Please,” Ronan says, “I don’t want Dick to come after me because I okayed his short ass girlfriend to try and take down a fucking beanpole gangster ass.” 

Blue opens her mouth to object, and Ronan continues. 

“Anyway,” he says, “Adam already got him back for me.” 

“Oh good,” Blue says, then, “does Gans know?” 

“Ah,” Adam says, “not yet.” 

“Ah,” Blue says. 

“We’re going home soon,” Ronan says, sighs, knows this means now he probably has to get up quite soon. “And we’ll tell him then. Declan knows, though. Which means that my lawyer does too. And probably the police.” 

“Right,” Blue says, ducks down to press a magenta kiss to Ronan’s forehead, “good. I’m glad you’re ok, gay baby.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Ronan murmurs. 

 

-

 

Gansey is, not surprisingly, horrified. 

“Oh my God,” he wails, after Adam finishes filling him in while Ronan slumps against Adam’s side, not in the mood for explanations, but very in the mood for being held. “I should have known something like this was going to happen, I should have said-” 

“Don’t be dumb,” Adam says flatly, “listen - you too, Ronan - the only people at fault here? Kavinsky and Prokopenko. This is not on you, Gansey, or on you, Ronan,” he says, squeezes his arm around Ronan’s shoulders quickly, “none of this is going to be easier just because you want to blame yourself for it.” 

Gansey stares at him. Ronan would also stare at him, but it’s easier and nicer just to stay wedged in under his arm. 

“This,” Gansey says, “is one of the reasons why I love that you and Ronan are together.” He says it very straightforward. “Thank God for you,” Gansey continues, “Adam Parrish, font of calm wisdom.” 

“Shut up,” Adam snorts, “I’m just stating facts.” 

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Gansey defends, “I’m just saying.” 

“Well,” Adam says, “what should we have for dinner?” 

“I’m not cooking,” Ronan pipes up, can all but feel Adam and Gansey rolling their eyes simultaneously. 

“Right,” Gansey drawls, “well, I was thinking of ordering in some fish and chips. Good old finger food.” 

“I could go for that,” Adam says, leans down to press his lips to Ronan’s head, doesn’t kiss him, just speaks against his skin, “what about you?” 

Ronan could go for being kissed. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “sure.” 

“And then,” Gansey says, he’s eying Ronan up carefully, “an early bed, I think?” 

“I think so too,” Adam says, “although I have some homework to do. Have you done the homework for history yet, Gans?” 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “I haven’t actually. I was thinking I needed to ask your opinion on the second assignment, I feel like I’m a little biased on it and I need an outside opinion.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, “shall we order food, then do homework while we wait?” 

“Sounds good,” Gansey says, very cheerful. It’s hard to tell how much of this cheerfulness is real, how much is Gansey trying to sound happy. “I’ll go order now then.” 

“You’re good with this?” Adam asks, lips still on Ronan’s skin, so his words come out with a dry slow motion kiss.

“Obviously,” Ronan says, “I don’t have homework, it doesn’t effect me.” 

Gansey leaves the room, phone in hand, mumbles something about the takeaway menu in the kitchen. 

“I’ll keep cuddling you,” Adam says, “we can stay like this.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

“I’m not going to let you go,” Adam continues, “if you don’t want me to.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

“Ro,” 

“Mm?” 

“Talk to me?” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“Well,” Adam sighs a little, shuffles around so he can bend down to look at Ronan’s face, “I want you to say if you’re feeling ok. I want you to say if you need anything.” 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, “it’s not like I haven’t had worse.” 

“Sure,” Adam says, there’s a hint of pain in his voice, “but you haven’t for a while. It’s different when this kind of thing happens after a while of being free from it.” 

He’s speaking from experience. 

“I thought I was safe,” Ronan snorts, “stupidly. Like. I finally tell people what happened, and I’m magically safe from anything like it ever happening again? No. I should have known better.” 

“Don’t,” Adam says, “that wasn’t a stupid thing to think. If the world was even just a little bit of a better place, nothing like that would have ever happened again.” 

“But it isn’t,” Ronan says, “and so, probably, I’m never actually going to be safe from this, am I?” 

“That’s not true,” Adam objects, “we’ll make the world a better place. Just a little bit at a time. By locking those assholes up. By winning this case. Then it’ll be a bit better, and you will be safe, Ro, you will be.” 

“I’ve ordered a large serving of fries,” Gansey announces, returning to the lounge, “three fish fillets, and also a selection of their spring rolls and battered pineapple rings.” 

 

-

 

Homework is done. Assignments are drafted. Food is eaten. Crumbs are lost in between couch cushions. Ronan attempts conversation, decides he’d prefer not. Has a shower. Goes straight from bathroom to bedroom to get into bed so he can cover his head. 

“Ro?” Adam asks, stepping into the room cautiously a few minutes after Ronan had climbed into the bed, main light off, bedside lamp on. His head was already under the covers, eyes screwed shut. “Are you sleeping?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you want some space? Or company?” 

Ronan doesn’t really need to think about this, not even a little. “Company,” he says, “if you’re done with homework.” 

“I’m done,” Adam says easily, leans out of the room to call a low goodnight to Gansey, and then shuts the door. “I’m absolutely ready to go to sleep already.” 

“Hurry up, then,” Ronan says, muffled under the blankets, “and get in with me.” 

“Lemme get changed,” Adam says, amused, “God, so impatient.” 

The both of them are quiet then, while Adam undresses, rustles around with the bag he’d brought with him, probably putting his clothes away and being all sorts of tidy. When he gets into the bed with Ronan, he doesn’t pull the blanket off of Ronan’s head, just tugs his side down so he can keep his face in the air, puts his arm round Ronan’s waist. Ronan knows he’s waiting. 

“I used to be friends with Proko,” he says, doesn’t want to make Adam have to wait too long. 

Adam makes a slight humming noise, confirmation that he’s listening. Ronan continues. 

“Not really proper friends,” Ronan clarifies, “more like - he - we had a lot of shared background. He looked after me sometimes when I was - too shit faced. He got kind of pissy at me though, when K started spending more time with me than him. He doesn’t like sharing.” 

Adam still doesn't reply. Just holds Ronan tighter. 

“It’s not that I’m surprised that he would do this,” Ronan says, knows the sarcasm tinging his voice is merely a substitute, “it’s not like he hasn’t tried to beat the shit out of me before. It’s just - I feel like I’m supposed to feel guilty. For not choosing their side.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “abusers are good at making you feel guilty for not backing them up. For not coming back. You don’t have anything to feel guilty of, though.” 

“I wish you’d tell me more about your family,” Ronan says, knows this must feel like it’s coming out of nowhere, “not now, necessarily, but sometime. I want to - to help. To understand.” 

“You can’t understand me without knowing my backstory?” Adam asks, attempts an amused voice. 

“I can,” Ronan says, “but I - I want to know all of you.” 

“Well,” Adam says, “I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to forget about large parts of me.” 

Ronan doesn’t reply this time, wants to roll over in Adam’s arms and kiss him, and tell him that even his shittiest parts were still worth knowing. 

“I’ll tell you,” Adam says, “more about me. Sometime. It’s not as exciting as I think you think it is.” 

“I’m not looking for excitement,” Ronan says, truth, “I’m just looking for real.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Adam asks. Ronan’s head is still under the blanket, but he pulls the blanket down as he rolls over so he can eyeball Adam. 

“You don’t need to ask,” he says. 

“So I can?” Adam asks. 

“Yes,’ Ronan says, emphatic, “please.” 

Adam kisses him. Just a light press of lips to Ronan’s mouth. He’s not angling for more, not trying to get anything out of it except for the comfort of the intimacy. Ronan wants more. Opens his mouth against Adam’s, presses up against his lips, tries to imply with just the deepened kiss that he wants. Just wants. 

Adam kisses him back for a few moments, then pulls away again, props himself up on his elbow to look down at Ronan. “You good?” he asks. 

“Would be better if you were still kissing me,” Ronan says, shuffles around until he’s on his back, reaches out to curl his fingers around the collar of Adam’s loose t-shirt, “much better.” 

Adam snorts at him, lets Ronan tug at him until he’s hovering over him, until their chests are pressed together, until his weight is bearing Ronan down into the mattress. The press aches in his ribs, in his stomach where he’d been kicked, but it doesn’t hurt, exactly. “What do you want?” Adam asks, kisses Ronan on the lips, then on the jaw, careful of the steadily darkening bruise, then presses a smattering of soft kisses down his neck, “What do you want, Ro?” 

Ronan wants to sleep and feel rested. He wants Adam’s weight on him like a heavy blanket, grounding him down, putting him back into his bones and out of his mind. He wants Adam’s lips to keep pressing into his skin, his hands to keep rubbing hard against his tense muscles. He wants. 

“To just love you,” he mumbles, cheeks pink with the awkwardness of speaking such a thought out loud, “to just get to love you without - without this shit happening around us. I just want-” 

“It’ll happen,” Adam says, says it to his throat, then lifts himself up so he can lock eyes with Ronan, “it’ll happen,” he repeats, says it to Ronan properly, drops down to kiss him soft, then hard. “Give it time,” he mumbles into Ronan’s mouth, “we’ll get to it.” 

 

Ronan doubts this. But mostly because he’s doubted he’ll be free of ‘this shit’ for about as long as ‘this shit’ has been happening. He doesn’t doubt Adam. 

 

-

Monday morning Adam insists that Ronan goes to the doctor, and is not able to be convinced otherwise. This does not stop Ronan for continuing to attempt to do so. 

“I’m not even in pain anymore,” Ronan says as Adam holds the car door open for him. He still had Noah’s car, and Ronan knew he felt bad about it, even though he had phoned Noah this morning and Noah had spent ten minutes saying it was completely and entirely fine. 

“If I’d broken anything, or like, burst something, I think we’d know by now,” Ronan says while Adam navigates them through the early morning traffic. It’s not unreasonably early, but early enough that Ronan resents being fully dressed already. 

“Seriously, I trust your opinion more than some doctor,” Ronan says as they pull into the healthcare parking lot. Adam parks smoothly, turns the car off, and fixes Ronan with a dry expression. 

“Well my opinion is that you should go to the doctor,” he says, and really, Ronan walked right into that one. “Babe,” Adam continues, “is there some reason you don’t want to go to the doctor?” 

“Apart from that it’s a waste of time?” Ronan replies, mulish, and Adam sighs, unbuckles himself. 

“Apart from that, yes,” Adam says, “is there - has something -?” 

“No,” Ronan grunts, busies himself with undoing his seatbelt, fiddles with the lock on the car door. “I just - no. I just don’t like doctors.” 

“Well,” Adam says, “is it because they don’t give you lollipops for being a good boy anymore?” 

Ronan glares. 

“I’ll buy you a lollipop,” Adam says, sounding far more seductive than he ought to be sounding, “if you’re a good boy.” 

“God,” Ronan says, “this better not be a kink of yours.” 

Adam snorts with laughter, leans across to cuff Ronan lightly over the back of the head. “Fuck off,” he says, “no.” 

“Good,” Ronan grins back, “I do want a lollipop though.” 

Adam grins at him with a touch too much mischief, “You sure that’s what you wanna be sucking?” he asks, winks, and Ronan sputters and coughs with mock outrage and smacks Adam back. 

“Ok, ok,” Adam laughs, “sorry. Let’s go in, ok?” 

“You’re such a dick,” Ronan says cheerfully, “ok fine. You gonna hold my hand in the office?” 

“If you want,” Adam says easily, “I thought you’d want to go into the actual appointment by yourself, though.” 

“Right,” Ronan says, “yes.” 

 

-

 

The doctor says around about the same things that Adam did. That he had no broken bones, that his stomach, though bruised, was fine, and that his face ought to heal just fine. He also says it’s good that Ronan came in, because this way there’s an official medical record of the injuries for the lawsuit. 

“I doubt it’ll do much,” Ronan grumbles, pulling his shirt back on, “it’s not like a couple of bruises is going to swing the court much.” 

“A couple of bruises,” the doctor says sharply, “is not what you have. And even if you did, Lynch, it isn’t about how badly you’ve been hurt, it’s about the fact that you are being hurt.” 

“Right,” Ronan says, jumps off of the examination table, “cool.” 

“I was surprised when I saw you had booked an appointment,” she continues, as if it’s not obvious that Ronan is attempting to dress and get out of there as quickly as possible, “and very pleased I had an opening so early in the day. It’s not often you can book an appointment for the same day.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, crouches down to do his shoes up. 

“It’s been just under a year since we saw each other last, yes?” she asks, “You’re looking much healthier now.” 

“Obviously,” Ronan snaps from the floor, “I didn’t just try to fucking kill myself.” 

“No,” she says, apparently unfazed, “will you be coming in for your regular check ups, again, now?” 

“If my boyfriend makes me,” Ronan grumbles, stands up. 

“I’ll send the report on to your lawyer, as you asked,” she says, “the bill has already gone to your brother. Remember, don’t engage in any strenuous activity for the next few weeks.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, shrugs his jacket on, pauses at the door. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure, Ronan,” she says, “next time.” 

-

Monday  
11:07 (am)  
>Tell Parrish thank you for making you go to the doctor. 

11:09  
-you fucking tell him. 

11:11  
>I don’t have his number. 

11:12  
-Good.  
-Anyway. He’s at work right now. 

11:13  
>Oh, you’re not with him? 

11:15  
-no. 

11:15  
>You’re not with Gansey either? 

11:17  
-No. 

11:18  
>Are you with anyone, Ronan? Are you at home? Are you safe? 

11:20  
-Chill

11:21  
>Don’t tell me to fucking chill you just got ATTACKED yesterday, I will not chill. 

11:22  
-I’m at Adam’s. By myself. I wanted to cuddle his cat. I’m fine. I won’t open the door to strangers. 

11:25  
>Could you not having fucking just told me that in the first place? 

11:27  
-Sorry. 

11:28  
>Are you feeling better today? 

11:29  
-Depends. 

11:30  
>On? 

11:34  
-Is Kavinsky locked up and my car returned? 

11:35  
>Right.   
>Ronan, you know this is going to take time.   
>But it will happen. 

11:36  
-Is there any news on my car? 

11:37  
>Kavinsky’s still denying he took it. 

11:38  
-He’s such a bullshitting fuckhead. We have fycking TEXTS SAYING HE TOOK IT

11:40  
>I can’t change facts for you Ronan. 

11:41  
-Do you want cat pics

11:42  
>What? 

11:44  
-(image attached)  
-she’s really cute  
-look  
-(image attached)

11:46  
>Yes. That is indeed a cat. 

11:46  
-(image attached)  
-Don’t be a hardass. Just admit she’s tghe cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

11:46  
>She’s cuter than you. 

11:47  
-She’s the reason I met Adam

11:48  
>I’m going to be curious about that some time very soon, when I’m not working. 

11:49  
-(image attached) 

-

 

Adam had not been keen on the idea of Ronan being alone at his flat. Despite Ronan’s assurances that he’d lock the door and not answer it to anyone unless he had proof it was someone he knew and trusted. Ronan eventually convinced him that him being at Adam’s place with Jane was probably better than him being at home with no one. 

“Draw me a picture?” Adam had asked when he’d dropped him off at his flat - they had decided it was more practical for Adam to take Noah’s car with him, seeing as he’d be going from work to uni to work before coming home. “I’ve missed your drawings.” 

“Sure,” Ronan had replied, not bothering to let himself consider it, “of the cat or of my dick?” 

“Either or,” Adam had said cheerfully, “gimme a kiss.” 

A kiss had been given, Ronan had taken Adam’s house keys, Adam had driven off. 

Now Ronan was lying on Adam’s bed, Jane sprawled out on his stomach, one of Adam’s ballpoint pens in his hand. He truly did want to draw something for Adam. He did. He wanted to draw something beautiful, or funny, or interesting. So far he had drawn a cartoon poop. That was when Jane had decided the bottom of the bed was less interesting than sitting right on top of his paper that he was holding in his hand. So. He left the paper under her, and just went with the general vibe of the whole thing, which is to say, napping. 

He naps for maybe 6 minutes. Then Jane wants to change positions, which means prinking his bruises, and standing on his balls, and, when he reacts, she decides she doesn’t appreciate sitting on him after all, and leaves with her tail in the air. 

Ronan texts Adam. 

-

1:19 (pm)  
-What should I draw

1:27  
~Draw your art attic in our run away house. 

1:52  
-(image attached)  
-I thought it should have dragons too. That’s fine, right? 

2:08  
~I can live with dragons. Are they pets or pests? 

2:10  
-Can’t they be both? 

2:14  
~I like the picture x

2:14  
-Are you in class?  
-I’m bored

2:16  
~Yeah I’m in class.  
~Do more drawing? Or watch tv? You’re welcome to use my laptop, or read any of my books or whatever. 

2:17  
-Is there anything I shouldn’t see on your computer? 

2:19  
~Uh. Probably not my uni notes unless you want to be bored to death.   
~I dont’ have porn on my compyter Ronan.   
~And if I did YOU would be allowed to look at it. 

2:20  
-Fucking Mary in a museum you’re cute. 

2:22  
~If you’re going to watch porn on my computer please do it on a incognito tab. 

2:24  
-;)

2:25  
~ :/ 

2:25  
-I’m not going to watch porn. GOD. Perfvert. 

2:26   
~:/

2:26  
-you really have dick on the mind today huh? First the lollipop comments and now this… 

2:27  
~Hey, you started this. 

2:27  
-.......remember what I said the other day? 

2:29  
~Ronan. I’m not sexting you at uni. 

2:30  
-Where’s your sense of adventure? 

2:31  
~I don’t bring it to uni with me. 

2:38  
-you know I’m mostly teasing you with the sexting thing, right? 

2:40  
~Good. 

2:41  
-I mean, Iw ouldn’t be AGAINST it but I also wouldn’t wnat to do it when we haven’t like physically done much, and yknow stuff like that. 

2:43  
~Same here.   
~I’d prefer our next time to be face to face. And also not while I’m being lectured. 

2:45  
-Can I paint Jane’s nails? 

2:48  
~No. 

2:48  
-:(

2:50  
~I love you but I’m not taking you back to the doctor because you pissed my cat off and got shredded. 

-

Noah gets back at 3. There’s a little bit of a kerfuffle because, un-surprisingly, he forgot his keys. 

“Ronan,” he yells through the door, “I know you’re fucking in their giggling, I can hear you. Let me in.” 

“I’m sorry, Mr Wolf,” Ronan says, standing right by the door, “I told my parents I wouldn’t open the door to strangers.” 

Jane meows loudly in agreement. 

“Snugglebutt,” Noah moans to Jane, “tell him to let me in.” 

Jane meows again, walks off. 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “she’s left. That must mean you’re definitely a stranger, so I shouldn’t let you in.” 

Noah makes a vaguely strangled noise. Ronan’s phone rings. Noah. 

“Yeah, hi?” Ronan answers cheerfully, “How’re you doing, Noah?” 

“Open the fucking door,” Noah says, it’s quite funny hearing him in his phone and through the door at once, “and I’ll make you an omelette.” 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “compelling. Ok.” 

He hangs up, opens the door. 

“You,” Noah says sourly, stomping in past Ronan, “are an asshole.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, shrugs, follows Noah into the kitchen, “you could’ve been anyone. Impersonating your voice.” 

“Right,” Noah says, glares at him, drops his bag in the kitchen doorway. Ronan stumbles on it, then kicks it out of the way. “Omelette, then? You want mushrooms in yours?” 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, slumps down at the table, “how was uni?” 

“Same old,” Noah says, “someone surfed down the H block stairwell on a broken desk and broke their leg.” 

Ronan snorts, “God,” he says, “are they ok?” 

“I just said they broke their leg,” Noah replies, “they’re fine.” 

“You are fine with Adam and me borrowing your car, right?” Ronan asks, picks at a piece of tomato that’s stuck down on the table. 

“Yes,” Noah says, “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. I’m not a saint, Ronan.” 

“Ok well,” Ronan shrugs, starts to say more, but apparently Noah wasn’t finished. 

“Anyway,” Noah says, grins over his shoulder at Ronan as he collects eggs from the pantry, “Henry’s been giving me rides to uni and back.” 

“Henry?” Ronan asks, raises his eyebrows and leans forwards over the table towards Noah, “Oh?” 

“Uh-huh,” Noah says smugly, “we’ve been hanging out a lot.” 

“Gross,” Ronan says, “why didn’t he come up with you then?” 

“Because you’re here,” Noah says plainly, breaks the eggs into a bowl, “and I told him not to.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says. Sits back in his chair. 

“Don’t,” Noah sighs, reaches into the sink to grab a fork, and rinses it off before using it to mix the eggs, “it’s not like that. It’s just, I wasn’t sure if you’d be ok with being seen while you’re bruised up like this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer questions about what happened, or whatever.” 

“I’d just tell him to mind his fucking business,” Ronan replies, appeased, and Noah snorts. 

“Ok then,” he says, “maybe because I wanted to make out with him and didn’t want to do it with you here glaring at me about his hair or whatever.” 

Ronan laughs. 

-

4:09  
~Just heading to the bookstore now, bb. I’ll be done about 6.30. You wanting to stay for dinner? I could bring food back or I could maybe even do the groceries and we could cook. 

4:10  
-I’m not opposed to you cooking dinner for me. 

4:11  
~Don’t think i’m going to be your househusband. 

4:12  
-Never. This is a flat, after all. 

4:12  
~Ass hole.   
~I should go grocery shopping then?   
~What do you wanna eat? 

4:13  
-Surprise me. 

4:14  
~BOO

4:15  
-Oh my fucking GOD why are you such a nerd why the fuck what the hell what the friggin frack, Adam. 

4:16  
~Love you. I’ll text you when I get off.   
~Don’t make that joke.  
~Don’t. 

4:17  
-Love you too xxx  
-(I’ll text you when I cum too ;))

4:17  
~:/

-

Blue gets home at half past. She spends the first half hour of being back complaining about several idiots in her class while Noah files her nails badly. Then, nails done (God, so badly, Noah), she challenges Ronan to a video game. 

“I swear-” Ronan says, another half hour later;

“Fucking right you do,” Noah interjects cheerfully from where he’s perched on the couch, a bowl of icecream on his knee, Jane wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snaps, turns back to Blue, “-I fucking swear you only play this shit with me to watch me lose.” 

“Yup,” Blue admits, quite happily, “want to play again?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “maybe I’ll win this time.” 

“Maybe you’ll stop swearing too,” Noah suggests. Ronan refrains from throwing his controller at him, only because otherwise Blue would definitely win. 

Blue definitely wins anyway. 

-

6:19  
~hi bb

6:20  
-You’re off early.   
-Is this where I make a joke about premature ejaculation?

6:21  
~if u did itd b wre i mk th sm jk rt bck @ u :) :) :) :) 

6:22  
-Adam?

6:22  
~y wld u ask tht wn u no it isnt?????????

6:23  
-What the fuck have yo done to Adam. How did you get this phone? 

6:23  
~plz  
~i hv my ways.  
~dd u thnk i ddnt no abt ur swt lttl bf? 

6:25  
-If you’ve hurt him i swear to god kavinsky you are going to regret this. 

6:26  
~ok :) xxxxxxxx

-

“What the fuck?” Blue says, coming back into the lounge with a half peeled orange, “Why are you yelling at your phone?” 

“Fuck,” Ronan replies, coherent, “he’s fucking got Adam’s phone, he’s got - he’s got-” 

He can hear Noah’s bedroom door opening. Jane has long since abandoned his lap, not favouring seats that wriggled and made weird noises. 

“Who what?” Blue asks, crossing the room to sit next to Ronan on the couch, “Who’s got Adam’s phone?” 

“What’s going on?” Noah asks from the doorway. 

“Fucking K has Adam’s phone,” Ronan says, knows his voice is trembling, doesn’t care how shitty he sounds, “I’ve gotta go-” 

“No,” Blue says, wraps her hand around his upper arm firmly, drops her orange into the folds of her voluminous skirt so her hand is free to take Ronan’s phone from him. “No, you don’t have to go anywhere. We should call - Declan, yeah? And your lawyer.” 

“Yes,” Ronan spits, tries to free his arm from Blue’s grip, but she’s surprisingly strong, “but I can’t just sit here while I wait for him to get off his ass, I have to go out and find Kavinsky and-” 

“No,” Noah confirms, sits down on his other side, and leans in against Ronan, “honey,” he says, the only person Ronan knows who can pull off this pet name without sounding condescending, “that’s what Kavinsky wants. This will be faster if we let Declan handle it. He has the resources to track the phone.” 

“Why aren’t you freaking out about this?” Ronan asks, angry, “Adam could be fucking hurt, Adam could be-” 

“I know,” Blue says, and only now does Ronan realise her hand on his arm, though firm, is trembling, “which is why we need to stop panicking and start calling.” 

“I’m already calling,” Noah says, phone to his ear, “Ronan,” he says, “call Gansey.” 

“Right,” Ronan says. Noah’s got through to Declan, is speaking quickly into the phone. Blue releases his arm, seemingly content he’s not going to dash away. “Can I have my phone,” he says to her, toneless, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just calmly call Gansey when he feels like he has no innards anymore. 

Blue hands his phone back, “Tell him to come over,” she says to him, “I’m going to make some tea and call the bookstore.” 

He stares at his phone. Kavinsky hasn’t stopped texting him. 

-

6:27  
~its knda fn bng on bail u no?  
~lk, xtra edgy  
~m so dngrs ppl hd 2 py $$$$ 2 gt me hm agn  
~its v fny

6:28  
~ur lwyr  
~thnks i shld jst admt evrythn  
~thnks i shld c tht im sch a bd bd boy :( :( :(   
~ :)

6:29  
~i dnt gv a sht bt bng n trbl  
~u no tht  
~y wld u thnk tht rprtng me wld scr me?  
~im jst fkn mad nw bb

6:30  
~FKN mad  
~u thnk i cnt tch u frm bhnd brs????  
~nt tht im gnna go bhnd brs  
~bt yno????????  
~i thnk it mht b fn.  
~bld up my ntwrk thr

6:31  
~kll sm othr fckrs whve sqld on me b4  
~i no a lt of mthrfkrs in prsn  
~nd  
~if im gnna go?  
~im gnna mk it so wrth my whl  
~u thnk uve hd it so bd lrdy bb????  
~u thnk ive hrt u lrdy?  
~ur fkn weak  
~u hv no idea wht i cn do 2 u

6:32  
~i jst wnna let u no tht ur brsd fce lks v prty  
~bt im gnna mk it prtr  
~prko dsnt hv nythn on me  
~n u cldnt evn sv urslf frm hm  
~hd 2 hd bhnd ur bf  
~fckn fgt

6:33  
~u wnna no wt im gnna do 2 u>? 

-

“Ok, stop,” Noah says, “stop reading those, don’t.” He’s taking Ronan’s phone from him. People are making too much of a habit of that lately. “Declan is on his way. He’s calling his people. This is going to be fine.” 

“Fucking read those texts,” Ronan says, knows his voice is on the verge of hysterical, “this isn’t fine.” 

“I didn’t say it was,” Noah says calmly, “I said it was going to be. I’ll call Gansey, ok?” 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, then he yells it for emphasis, then he leans down over his knees and wraps his arms around his thighs, holds on tightly. 

“Ok,” Noah says, a little less calmly, presses the flat of his palm against Ronan’s back and just keeps the pressure there while he dials Gansey’s number. Talks to Gansey. Hangs up again. He drops his phone down on the cushion beside him, and leans in over Ronan’s back, presses his forehead to Ronan’s shoulder. “Listen,” he says, “we’re all freaking the fuck out, ok? I know this is horrifying, but we’re all working on making this better.”

Ronan swallows. Swallows again. Needs to swallow a third time because it’s difficult to swallow while his throat is stretched against his knees like it is now, and difficult as well, to swallow when there’s a fucking lump blocking his esophagus.   
“I know,” he says, “I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” Noah says. 

Ronan nods. 

Blue comes in three cups of tea. Two pinched together in one hand in a way that looks a little painful, and the other she’s holding out for Ronan. 

“It’s peppermint,” she says, “with honey. Like you like it. I called the bookstore,” she adds, while Ronan unfolds himself so he can take the tea. Noah is shuffling up on his knees on the couch cushions so he can carefully take his mug from Blue as well without spilling her drink. “They said he left at 6.30. That’s after Kavinsky started texting you, yeah?” 

Ronan takes the team stares at Blue for a little while, then nods. “Yeah,” he says, “K texted at 6.26. You’re sure they said he left at 6.30? Are they sure he left then?” 

“I asked quite firmly,” Blue says, “they were very clear, they checked his timesheet for me.” 

“They shouldn’t do that,” Noah mumbles. 

“I asked quite firmly,” Blue reiterates. 

“Ok,” Ronan says, breathes out. Breathes out a bit more. Breathes out until there’s nothing left in his lungs and he feels dizzy with it. Or with relief. “So,” he says, has to gasp a breath back in, “K had his phone stolen. Adam’s fine. Adam’s fine.” 

“Yes,” Noah says, “most likely Adam is completely fine, and on his way here right now. He’ll probably be here any minute.” 

“No,” Ronan says, “he said he was going to go get groceries, oh God,” he says, “oh God, what if K’s waiting for him at the shop, he’ll have read our texts, he’ll know, oh God, Blue, God, what if-” 

“There’s no way he’d know which shop Adam was going to go to,” Blue says, “Adam is going to be fine.” 

“But they could trail him,” Ronan says, his mind coursing ahead along all the different routes that tonight could end up as. “They could follow the car, and follow him out, and then get him in the parking lot, or -” 

“It’s too crowded,” Noah says, “everyone will be doing their shopping right now. Kavinsky and his fuckers are idiots, but I don’t think even they would risk mugging someone in a busy supermarket.” 

“But,” Ronan says, “but-” 

“Drink your tea,” Blue says, “and try and remember that Adam’s pretty fucking tough, ok?” 

“Very buff,” Noah adds on, taking a large gulp of what smells like two day old coffee. 

“He did carry me to bed one time,” Ronan mumbles into his mug, “he didn’t even sound breathless.” 

“I don’t want to hear the rest of this story,” Blue says. 

“I wasn’t going to tell it,” Ronan snaps back, takes a sip of his tea, “we went to sleep,” he says. 

“I thought you weren’t going to tell it?” Blue asks. 

“I’m panicking, ok?” Ronan says, “Leave me alone.” 

Noah rubs his back. “Gans’ll be here soon,” he says, “and Declan. We don’t need to panic, we’re about to have two of the most competent people around in this room.” 

-

Gansey does a very good job of acting like someone who’s not panicked. It’s almost soothing the way he rubs his lower lip, the only tell that he’s actually vaguely shitting his pants. 

Declan arrives on the phone, gets off the phone for long enough to look over the texts (that are still coming in) on Ronan’s phone from Adam’s phone, and then gets on the phone to someone else. There’s a lot of what Ronan thinks of as ‘not yelling’, which is where every word coming out of Declan’s mouth sounds like it was originally intended to be shouted, but, because that’s not polite, wasn’t. 

Ronan finishes his tea. 

Adam gets home. Unlike Noah, he never forgets his keys, so, he simply unlocks the door, and walks in with a few armfuls of shopping. 

At the sound of the door opening and shutting, everyone in the flat freezes, except for Jane who recognises an opportunity to tell someone new she hasn’t been fed yet. 

“Adam?” Blue calls. 

“Yeah,” Adam replies, it sounds like he’s kicking his shoes off, “has this cat been fed?” 

Jane is meowing up a storm. 

“God,” Ronan says. Declan picks his phone up, dials someone else. Ronan could fucking vomit from relief. 

“I fed her,” Gansey calls, voice weak. 

“Oh,” Adam replies, he’s in the kitchen now, putting bags downs, or at least, that’s what the rustling sounds like. “Hi Gans, are we having a party or something?” 

“Or something,” Noah replies wryly, “you should probably come in here.” 

“Oh?” Adam says again, he sounds confused and a little worried, “Ok.” 

He appears in the doorway a few moments later. Blue is closest, and she hugs him as soon as he steps inside, looking much more confused than he’d sounded. He hugs her back, one arm around her shoulders, and looks over her head at Ronan, who’s scrunched up as small as he can get in an armchair, arms wrapped around his knees. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. 

“Your phone got stolen,” Declan replies before Ronan can even open his mouth. He’s holding his phone against his chest, obviously still in the middle of a call, “and Kavinsky has been texting Ronan. We’re following up on Kavinsky currently. Good to see you safe, Parrish.” 

“I-” Adam says, frowning, pats his pockets, “God. Fuck,” he says. Blue lets go of him, and he crosses the room immediately to Ronan, “Fuck,” he says again, “I forgot to text you when I got off work, if I’d remembered I’d’ve realised and I could have called you on the store phone, and- fuck, babe. Are you ok?” He asks, dropping down onto his knees in front of Ronan’s chair. He looks like he’s walked through a tornado in the time it took him to cross the room, eyes wild, hair hastily shoved back, body tense. 

“He didn’t touch you?” Ronan asks. 

Adam looks at him, then shakes his head. “No,” he says, “my phone was in the staff room for the last half of my shift. He must have taken it then.” 

“Most likely he had one of his cronies take it,” Declan says loudly, walks his phone call out of the room. 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “I’m sorry, Adam.” 

“What?” Adam says, “Why- no. No, don’t do that thing where you think this is your fault because I’m getting targeted because of you. I’m not. I’m fine. Look, you’ve made it very clear that Kavinsky is dangerous, if I was fucking - I knew perfectly well that things could be a bit risky, I’m not sorry.” 

Ronan isn’t sure what to say in response to this very accurate response to what he hadn’t even said yet. 

“Babe,” Adam says, and the softness in his voice is enough to make Ronan forget that anyone else is in the room. Would be, at least, if Jane wasn’t back in the lounge meowing loudly. “Are you ok?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, clears his throat, reaches for Adam, “yes. I was just - fuck - I was terrified. I thought he- I was scared you- fuck.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, doesn’t bother with the technicalities of it all, just climbs right into the chair with Ronan and bundles him in his arms, “yeah. It’s ok. He didn’t. I’m not.” 

The chair creaks grumpily underneath their combined weight, Ronan heaves a shaky breath. Presses his face to Adam’s neck. 

“What was he saying?” Adam asks, Ronan doesn’t think the roughness of his voice is intentional. “What did he say to you, Ro?” 

“A load of bullshit,” Ronan mumbles, “it doesn’t matter.” 

“Declan’s sending the texts to the investigation team now,” Noah says from somewhere to their left. 

“I’m gonna need a new number again,” Ronan says, feels very bitter about this, then, seeing a very, very thin silver lining, says; “and you’re going to need a new phone. Preferably a non-dumb one.” 

Adam makes a noise that, at a stretch, could be considered a snort. “Yeah,” he says, “maybe.” 

-

Everybody stays for dinner. Including Declan. He mumbles something about wanting to keep an eye on ‘the situation’, and then mumbles something else about a Malaysian place that does good take aways, and that’s that. 

Jane gets a second dinner, mostly because Noah is a soft touch, and Jane is very good at sounding very hungry. 

Adam gets out of the chair so he can go to the bathroom and get changed, and Ronan tries not to be a child about it. Still ends up waiting for Adam outside the bathroom. 

“Hey,” Adam says, closing the bathroom door behind him, visibly shocked that Ronan is leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, “babe.” 

“Sorry,” Ronan mumbles, “I’m not trying to be creepy.” 

“It’s fine,” Adam says, shrugs, reaches out to pull Ronan away from the wall and to his chest instead, “It’s not like I was taking a shit.” 

“I’d still have stood here like a fucking twat while you were shitting, though,” Ronan mumbles.

“Embarrassing,” Adam says, kisses Ronan’s cheek, “c’mon then. I need to get changed.” 

As they walk through the flat past the lounge, Gansey pops his head out. He looks a little harassed. A usual response to being in the same room as Declan.

“Declan’s on the phone to the Malaysian Palace now,” he says, “he wants to know if you want your usual, Ronan, and what you want, Adam.” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, tries not to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s clinging to Adam. 

“Uh,” Adam says, “Nasi Goreng?” 

“Great,” Gansey says, disappears again. 

Jane follows them to Adam’s bedroom. She’s happy again now, if a little over full, and runs in front of their feet so she can have first dibs of Adam’s bed. 

“So,” Adam says, stripping his shirt off while he shuts the door behind them with his foot. Ronan follows Jane to the bed. “Do you want to stay the night here?” 

“Mm-hm,” Ronan says, collapses face first into Adam’s duvet. 

“It sounds like Gansey may be staying over as well,” Adam says. 

“Mm,” Ronan says. 

“I guess Declan can always sleep on the couch if he really wants,” Adam continues lightly, “although Noah might let him share the bed with him.” 

“Ha, ha,” Ronan intones. 

“Ro,” Adam says, shuts his wardrobe, “I am really so sorry that I forgot to text you. If I had this would have been a lot less terrifying.” 

“If I’m not allowed to feel like this is my fault,” Ronan says, face still pressed into the bed, “neither are you.” 

“I said I was going to text,” Adam protests. Ronan snorts, forces himself to roll over so he can raise his eyebrows at Adam. 

“And you forgot. And it’s whatever. People forget shit sometimes. Stop fucking beating yourself up over it. Blue told you she called the bookstore so we knew you were probably fine, anyway. So.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says softly, crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed next to Ronan, “but that didn’t stop you from worrying.” 

“No,” Ronan says, leans in against Adam, “but that’s not your fault.” 

“I’ll be more careful in future,” Adam says. 

“Adam,” Ronan grumbles. Adam kisses his forehead. 

“I loved that picture you drew me today,” he says, “I can imagine you in a space like that.” 

“Dragons and all?” 

“Oh,” Adam says, chuckles a little, “especially with the dragons.” 

“I’m not joking about it,” Ronan says  
.   
“About the dragons?” Adam asks, sounds a little confused. He pulls away a little from Ronan so he can look at him properly. 

“No,” Ronan says, “well, I mean, I would like the dragons, but no- I mean, God, Adam-” he breaks off to sigh, to press back in against Adam so he doesn’t have to look at Adam’s face, “-I’m joking about the actual running away bit,” he says slowly, “but now about the together bit. The living together bit. About that being a thing I want.’ 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

“And I mean,” Ronan mumbles, “obviously I don’t mean right now, so you don’t need to panic about me being a fucking - a needy bitch or whatever, but. Sometimes. In the future. I want that.” 

“I can do that,” Adam says, “that sounds like the kind of future I want.” 

“The kind with dragons in it?” 

“No,” Adam says, “the kind with you in it, asshole.” 

Declan interrupts this moment by knocking on the door and saying; “Ronan, Matthew is absolutely going to flip if he finds out we all got together for dinner without him.” 

“So fucking invite him,” Ronan snaps back.

“I will!” Declan replies, “Don’t spoil your appetite in there.” 

“Fuck off!” 

-

Matthew turns up. He’s been filled in on the broader details by Declan, and looks quite anxious when he arrives, but his anxious expression is almost immediately washed away when he says Adam. 

“Oh my God,” he says, loud enough that Gansey and Blue in the kitchen having a discussion about wine, stop talking. “Oh my God Ronan, you asshole.” 

“What?” Ronan snaps, he’s still got his arms around Matthew from the greeting hug Matthew had pulled him into, “what the fuck, Matthew?” 

“Oh my God,” Matthew says again, doesn’t release Ronan, but steps away and points at Adam. “I fucking told you he was hot! Didn’t I? And now you’re fucking dating him?” 

“Oh God,” Ronan says, glances at Adam who’s suddenly grinning outright, “God. Yes.” 

“He was our waiter at that great pie place!” Matthew announces to Declan who’s standing in the doorway, very bemused, “and I told Ronan he was good looking and Ronan told me he wasn’t going to date the waiter, and - and look at this shit!” 

“God,” Ronan says again, groans dramatically as Matthew releases him and moves on to Adam, hand outstretched. 

“It’s very nice to meet you again,” he says excitedly, “Ronan’s told me a lot about you, mostly about how fantastic you are and how much he loves you and other mushy stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Adam says, lets matthew shake his arm about, “I’ve heard a lot about you as well, all about how great you are too. I’m very glad I’ve finally got to meet you.” 

“Fuck,” Matthew says again. 

“Language,” Declan mumbles from behind them. 

“He’s so nice!” Matthew declares to Ronan, still pumping Adam’s hand. 

“You’ve barely met him!” Ronan exclaims. 

“Says the man who met him like a month ago and is already in love,” Matthew shoots back, entirely un-put off, “I think obviously it’s just very easy to like him.” 

“Yeah,” Noah says, appearing behind Adam, “we’re all in love with Parrish, Ronan, get over it.” 

“Yeah well,” Ronan sniffs, “jokes on all of you, ‘cos he’s fucking dating me, bitches.” 

“Language,” Declan reiterates. 

-

Matthew had caught a ride over with one of his mates, so after dinner Declan drives him home. Adam was right that Gansey was staying the night, so it was quite a full house, but luckily not as full as it could have been. 

“Ronan,” Declan says before they make to leave, catches Ronan’s elbow and tugs him away from the small knot of people in the kitchen. Adam and Noah are washing and drying dishes, everyone else is just freeloading in on the conversation and sitting on the table. Once they’re in the hallway, Declan lets go of Ronan’s arm, leans back against the wall. “Thank you for calling me today,” Declan says. 

Ronan shrugs. “Noah called you,” he points out.

“Thank you,” Declan tries again, “for letting me be involved when you were having a crisis.” 

Ronan shrugs again, tries to bury his head down between his shoulders. “Thanks for fucking dealing with it all,” he mumbles. 

Declan’s reaching for him again, grasping him by the shoulder and pulling him into a loose hug. 

“We don’t really do this,” Ronan says, not so much an objection as an observation, leans his head against Declan’s shoulder. 

“We used to,” Declan says, doesn’t move to release Ronan, “we could again.” 

“What,” Ronan mumbles, sniffs harshly, “and lose our hardcore sibling feud look?” 

Declan just squeezes him a little tighter, then releases him. 

“We should go,” he announces, “I have work in the morning, as well as meetings with Grant. You’ll be ok?” 

“Sure,” Ronan says, keeps his eyes trained on the floor, “Adam’s here.” 

“Adam and Gansey,” Declan says wryly, and Ronan rubs at his face and lifts his head to raise an eyebrow at Declan. “For the longest time,” Declan snorts, “I thought you and Gansey were dating, and for some reason, pretending you weren’t. You never did though, did you?” 

“No,” Ronan snorts back, “God. If I was dating Gansey you bet I would have told you, smacked it in your face.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Declan replies, squeezes Ronan’s shoulder once more, and then pokes his head back into the kitchen to call for Matthew. 

-

“Too many couples in here,” Noah announces shortly after Ronan’s brothers leave, and the group has migrated to the lounge. “If my beauty is no longer required, I might go do some homework.” 

“There are only two couples in here,” Blue retorts, “get out of here.” 

“I miss your beauty already Noah,” Gansey calls from somewhere underneath Blue, “I’ll dream about it tonight.” 

“Do you have homework too?” Ronan asks, pokes at Adam’s side. He would like to be copying Blue by being in Adam’s lap right now, but Jane got there first. 

“Mm,” Adam says, yawns, “yeah, a bit.” 

“Can we go do that now, then?” 

Blue snorts.

“Yeah,” Adam says, ignores Blue, “c’mon then.” 

-

“Oh fuck,” Ronan says a few minutes after they’ve settled down for Adam to study. He’s sitting against the headboard with his book in his hands and Ronan’s head in his lap. 

“What?” Adam asks, doesn’t look down from his book. 

“I gave Declan my sim card, remember?” Ronan asks, sighs for dramatic effect. 

“Yes,” Adam says, turns the page of his book. 

“So,” Ronan says, “this time K was texting from your phone, so they’ll be looking at those messages, and the last thing I texted you before your phone was stolen was about cumming.” 

“Ah,” Adam says, “well, now Declan isn’t going to believe my comment about us not fucking, is he?” 

“God,” Ronan says, “ok, crisis over. Go back to your book, nerd.” 

“I never left it,” Adam replies. 

Ronan gives him five more minutes of relative peace and quiet, and then says; “Hey.” 

“Mm?” 

“Can I buy your new phone?” 

This time Adam lowers his book. And then his gaze. Raises his eyebrows at Ronan. “What?” 

“So,” Ronan says, “I get that you’re not - I get that I’m not to blame for this - for - but, it is kind of my fault that you don’t have a phone anymore, so let me buy you a new one, ok?” 

“I might still get my phone back,” Adam retorts, lifts his book back up. 

“Right,” Ronan says, rolls over in Adam’s lap and pushes himself up on his thighs so he can get in the way of the book, “but you might not, and anyway,” he adds, “do you really want a phone that Kavinsky’s fucking fucked with?” 

Adam sighs, drops his book. 

“No,” he says, “but I can buy myself a new phone.” 

“But-” Ronan begins, would really like to win this one. 

“I can buy myself a new phone,” Adam repeats, “and it’s not up for discussion.” 

Ronan considers suggesting that maybe it could be up for discussion, then he just bites his lips and drops himself back down against Adam. Presses his cheek to Adam’s chest. 

“Ok,” he says, “I just - feel bad about this.” 

“Me too,” Adam says, cups the back of Ronan’s head with one hand, and rubs down his back with the other, “but hey. Everything’s ok. You can help me choose a new phone, if you like.” 

Ronan sighs, then closes his eyes. “Tomorrow?” he asks, “Can we go tomorrow? Before therapy?” 

“Sure,” Adam says, bends down to kiss Ronan’s forehead, “we can pick up your sim card at the same time.” 

“You gonna keep studying?” Ronan asks after a few moments when Adam hasn’t made a move to pick his book back up. 

“Nah,” Adam says, “nah. I just - let’s go to bed. Yeah?” 

 

-

 

“Your brother is picking you up again after this?” Calla asks, “So, am I right in assuming the two of you have been getting on a little better recently?” 

“Please,” Ronan snorts, blows on his hot chocolate, not that it really needs cooling down, “nothing like trauma to bring people together, huh?” 

“Shared trauma, specifically,” Calla says, “tell me why you’re feeling guilty about this.” 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, “I never said I was feeling guilty.” 

“Oh,” Calla says, “my apologies, it’s just your face is very expressive, so-” 

“It isn’t,” Ronan snaps, takes a gulp of his drink, then puts it down heavily on the small table next to him. “I’m-” he says, “I didn’t think he gave a fuck.” 

“A fuck about?” Calla prompts, crosses her legs with a flounce of her pleated, floor length dress. Ronan thinks it looks a lot like a toga. If togas were bright pink and embroidered with unicorns. 

“About our parents,” Ronan says, feels like a shit head just saying this, “about them - about everything that happened. I thought he didn’t care.” 

“Because he didn’t like your parents?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “no, God. Because he was so- so calm afterwards. Because he was so put together. Because he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Because he seemed perfectly happy to start trying to run my life.” 

“Right,” Calla says, “so tell me why you don’t think this anymore.” 

“Because I’m an asshole,” Ronan bites out, “a blind asshole. I’ve always known he doesn’t - I knew he doesn’t display his emotions like me or Matty. I knew that. But I still - just because he wasn’t fucking showing it doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. And I should have known that.” 

“You were hurting too,” Calla reminds him, “don’t you think that’s an excuse for being a bit blind?” 

“Maybe for the first hour or so,” Ronan says angrily, angry at himself, “for the last year it’s just been … just been me refusing to acknowledge that I’m the only one in pain.” 

“Just because you’re not the only one in pain,” Calla says, “doesn’t mean you weren’t in pain. There’s no point in minimising that just because there’s more to the story.” 

“I know,” Ronan says, sighs, “I - Declan can be a real fucking asshole,” he says slowly, “he takes over shit. He micromanages. He always thinks he knows best. I hated that so much. I still do. I - I didn’t give him a chance to prove that he was doing what he was doing for us.” 

“Mhm,” Calla says, takes a long sip of her coffee. 

“I’m not saying that we’re best fucking buddies, now,” Ronan says, “but I - I’m fucking done. I’m fucking done with hating him just because I can. I’m done. I’m - I’m - fuck.” 

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” Calla says, “it sounds like you’re feeling much more stable about your family now you feel you can trust him again.” 

“You sound like you’re just making shit up,” Ronan grumbles, “I haven’t even said anything about my family today.” 

“I’m psychic,” Calla shrugs, “I know what you’re thinking.” 

“Shut up,” Ronan snorts. 

“So,” Calla says, not shutting up - which is good, because that isn’t what Ronan’s paying for -, “last time we talked you were saying that Adam told you he was in love with you?” 

God. That was only Friday. God. 

“Uh,” Ronan says, wishes he wasn’t fucking blushing, oh my God. “About that.” 

“Mmhm,” Calla hums, she looks entirely too pleased. 

“I fucking-” Ronan grumbles, fiddles with the cord of his hoodie, resists the urge to put it in his mouth to chew it, “-I told him I love him too.” 

“And do you?” Calla asks, she’s not looking at Ronan now, she’s putting her mug down beside her chair. 

“Fuck that, of course I do,” Ronan snaps, “I wouldn’t have said I didn’t if I didn’t.” 

“How do you know?” Calla asks calmly. 

“Because,” Ronan says, “because. Because when I see him I - I feel so fucking good. About myself. About him. I feel like - like - stop smirking at me - I feel like I can fucking see tomorrow when I’m with him.” 

“See tomorrow?” 

“Like I have a future,” Ronan says, “like it’s a real… a real fucking tangible thing when I’m with him.” 

“Hm,” Calla says, “and you’re not worried that it’s been so soon? You’ve only been together, for, what? A few weeks.” 

“Of course I’m fucking worried,” Ronan says, “of course I am. Who the fuck falls for someone that fast? Outside of shitty romance movies, that is. It’s - it feels impossible. It feels like I’m making some huge naive mistake. But I - I can’t change my mind. I’ve tried. Every way I look at it I love him.” 

“Do you want me to change your mind?” Calla asks. 

“I don’t think you could,” Ronan replies, “because - even if - look,” he says, stern, even if it’s only so he can force the words out of his mouth, “if we ever broke up - Adam and me. If that happened - I - I don’t think I would stop loving him. I feel like that’s just always going to be a part of me now, as stupid as that sounds. But I don’t care. I don’t care. I always thought this would fucking feel like I was giving something away, being in love, but I feel like I’ve fucking gained. Everything. I don’t know, Calla.” 

“Maybe you should go write shitty romances,” Calla grins at him. 

“I’d write fucking beautiful romances,” Ronan snaps, “they’d make you cry.” 

“Hm,” Calla shrugs, “I’d like to see you try.” 

“Maybe I will then,” Ronan replies. His cheeks are still burning, but he’s grinning back at her. 

-

“So,” Declan says, maneuvering is way through traffic. He’d been waiting outside Calla’s when Ronan had come out, a bag of still hot fries in Ronan’s seat. “Kavinsky’s out on bail again, which is, quite frankly, a fucked up idea, but when you’ve got money like he does-” 

“Like we do,” Ronan mumbles through a mouthful of salty potato. 

“Like we do, too, yes,” Declan acknowledges, continues, “but our next court session has been moved up again. He’s pushed a lot of people’s buttons with this phone move, especially since the police found him with Adam’s phone still.” 

“He doesn’t care,” Ronan says, puts another fry in his already full mouth, “he said so. He doesn’t care about going to jail. He knows his connections will keep him well fed there as well.” 

Declan glances over at him, sighs heavily. “I read those texts too,” he says, “I know what he said. I think it’s a fuck load of bravado he’s spouting to try and scare you off.” 

“I don’t,” Ronan says, “he’s never really had much of a - he doesn’t care about self-preservation so long as he’s having fun.” 

“That’s why you were drawn to him,” Declan says, and Ronan screws the paper bag the chips came in up in one hand and chucks it at Declan’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be a shit head,” he says, can’t stop himself from bubbling up with anger and sudden self loathing at this reminder. Declan bats at the paper bag ball, sighs again. 

“I wasn’t-” he begins, sighs harder, “I wasn’t saying that to be cruel,” he says, “I was just - I’ve spent a lot of time not knowing what the hell was going on with you. Why you were doing what you were doing. It’s - instructive to get some insight.” 

“Why the hell do you always sound like a talking manual,” Ronan grumbles, the anger still there, the self loathing still there and much louder. He pushes himself down in his seat until the seat belt rides up under his chin, presses into his throat. 

“Stop that,” Declan says, reaches out with one hand to tug at Ronan’s shoulder, keeping his eyes firm on the road, “I don’t want to get pulled over because my grown ass brother refuses to wear his seat belt properly.” 

“Wouldn’t matter,” Ronan says, “you could just bail yourself out easy.” 

“Was therapy really that bad, today?” Declan asks as Ronan shimmies his way back into almost acceptable seat belt wearing, “You seem - well -.” 

“I seem what?” Ronan snaps, watches disgruntled as Declan shrugs, and then sighs. “Therapy was fine,” he says, reconsiders, “I like therapy,” he says, “she’s good at making me feel like the shit that happened to me doesn’t make me abnormal.” 

“Useful,” Declan says. 

“But I hate it,” Ronan continues, elects to choose to ignore the vague sarcasm in Declan’s voice, “because I come out of there knowing I still have so much to fucking fix about myself.” 

“Still useful,” Declan says. 

“And I’m already so-” Ronan says, “-so - do you have any idea how stupidly childish I feel with all my fucking emotions when I’m next to you?” 

“A general idea, yes,” Declan says. Stops at a red light and takes the opportunity to look at Ronan properly. “Ronan,” he says, “not to give you the wrong idea that I’m also a mushy emotional person-” 

“God, wouldn’t that be awful,” Ronan says mulishly. 

“-but I - I appreciate that you can, and do, feel your feelings. I appreciate it less when that leads you to get into awful situations, but - it’s good. That you’re capable of letting it out when you’re upset.” 

“Less good if I’m not capable of letting it go, as well,” Ronan grumbles. 

“Yes,” Declan agrees, turns back to the road as the light turns green, “that’s what you’re going to therapy for.” 

“Do you,” Ronan says after a few moments, “want to go to therapy?” 

Declan snorts. 

“I do go,” he says. 

“What the fuck,” Ronan says, “what?” 

“I go monthly,” Declan says smoothly, “I have been since we lost the case for the house. She’s a very proper lady who doesn’t say much and charges me way too much money, but I feel better afterwards.” 

“You,” Ronan says, “go to therapy.” 

“I wouldn’t very well go off on you to go to therapy when I wouldn’t go myself, would I?” 

“You would.” 

“Fine,” Declan sighs, “I probably would. However, I didn’t.” 

“So,” Ronan says, “you - uh -” 

“We don’t have to force this conversation,” Declan says, “and I would prefer it if we didn’t.” 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Ronan says staunchly, “you not doing emotions like me.” 

“I know,” Declan says easily, “but thank you for your vote of support.” 

-

Tuesday  
12:06 (pm)  
-Hey matty this is my new number  
-This is Ronan obviously. Jsyk. 

12:08  
#Hi! What’s my new name in your contacts???? 

12:09  
-Splatthew

12:10  
#>:O   
#I’m putting you in as Poonan then!!!!!

12:11  
-Aw splatty

-

12:11  
~How was therapy? 

12:12  
-Therapeutic 

12:12  
~I guess I can’t be mad because that is a valid answer. 

12:12  
-I’m at Grant’s rn and I would prefer nto to be. 

12:13  
~Uncomfortable or just boring? 

12:13  
-both

12:14  
~Can I do anything? 

12:15  
-I want donuts. 

12:15  
~Ummmmmm  
~I still have Noah’s car (because i’m an asshole flatmate) so I could bring you donuts in like, half an hour, when this class finishes? 

12:16  
-Oh my God  
-Would you?   
-And then would you just take me away with you as well??? 

12:17  
~I could. If you don’t need to stay 

12:18  
-I might not

12:19  
~And I’ve gotta go to work after as well

12:20  
-Poldma’s?

12:20  
~Yeah

12:21  
-Can I come?

12:22  
~Of course. 

12:22  
-fuck I love you  
-Can you get jelly donuts plz

12:22  
~Sure can  
~Love you too 

-

“Ronan,” Declan says, equal parts frustration and resignation, “are you going to listen at any point, or are you just going to continue to make googly eyes at your phone?” 

“I wasn’t making googly eyes at my phone,” Ronan retorts, putting said phone in his jean pocket, “I was arranging for donuts. What am I listening to?” 

“Kelly was saying,” Declan says with a sigh,” that seeing as we can’t trust the police assigned to Kavinsky’s house arrest while he’s on bail, due to obvious reasons, we ought to assign you with a bodyguard.” 

“Oh fuck that,” Ronan says, “no offense, Kelly.” 

Kelly is rolling her eyes. 

“If you’d been paying attention,” Declan says dryly, “you would have realised that this wasn’t an idle suggestion so much as a, we are going to assign you a bodyguard.” 

“Really?” Ronan sighs. 

“Really,” Grant replies from over at his desk, “as much as Kavinsky’s latest efforts in ruining your life have been very good for our case, we don’t actually want this to continue.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan says. 

“We’ll contact an associate of mine,” Kelly tells him, “and he’ll be here within the hour. This way, you also don’t need to worry about not having your car, because he’ll double as a chauffeur.” 

“Um,” Ronan says, “I’m actually planning on going out with Adam after this. In like- half an hour now?” 

At this point Declan is basically a sigh machine. 

“So,” Ronan continues, “I already have a ride, and I think Adam’s already proven that if I’m attacked he can handle it.” 

“That’s not the point,” Declan says roughly. 

“So we’ll get Jack to follow your car,” Kelly says easily, “he doesn’t have to be entirely glued by your side the whole time. He just needs to be close enough to step in if you need it.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan reiterates. 

“Plus,” Declan says, taking over from Kelly, “he’ll wear a bodycam, so if anything does happen, he’ll catch it on film. This is a good idea, Ronan.” 

“Fine,” Ronan says, “let’s hire me a babysitter.” 

“He’ll probably sit on you if you want,” Kelly says with a shrug, “but he won’t call you baby.” There’s a silence, and then Kelly says; “What? That was kind of funny.” 

 

-

12:50  
~OMW, bringing donuts

12:51  
-When you get here we can’t leave until after you’ve met my bodyguard

12:51  
~What

12:51  
-Declan orders. Safety first. Etc. 

12:52  
~I feel like I’m dating a celebrity. Or like, a prince. 

12:52  
-I’ll be your prince

12:52  
~<3

-

Adam arrives before Jack does, which is good, because Ronan doesn’t feel up to meeting new people without donuts. 

“So,” Adam says, he’s perched on the arm of the sofa next to Ronan, Ronan’s arm around his waist. Ronan has half a donut in his mouth. “Where will this bodyguard be staying?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “that’s a good question.” 

Your flat does have three bedrooms,” Declan point out, “last I checked, the one you turned into a storage shelf even still has a bed in it.” 

“Somewhere under all that shit, I guess,” Ronan says. 

“He can stay there,” Declan says, decision already made. 

“He can’t stay in a hotel?” Ronan tries. 

“The point of a bodyguard,” Grant points out, “is that he guards your body. He can’t very well do that from a hotel.” 

“Whatever,” Ronan says. 

 

-

Jack doesn’t turn out to be the huge hulk of a man Ronan had been (secretly) expecting a bodyguard to be. Instead, he was quite slim, and almost forgettable. He supposed this was probably useful in his line of work. Declan looked pleased though, so. 

Necessary introductions are made, hands are shaken all round, and arrangements are decided upon. Jack’ll follow Ronan and Adam in his car - a non-descript grey ford - to Poldma’s, and follow them in. He wouldn’t sit in the same booth, but would approach if Ronan was approached by anyone who he deemed in anyway a threat. Then he would follow them home and they would sort out the spare room.   
Doable. 

“I hate this,” Ronan says as soon as he’s buckled in and Adam’s pulled out onto the road, “don’t you think this is kind of fucking excessive?” 

“I think it’s better than you being hurt again,” Adam says, a little vague as he checks his rear view mirror, “and at least he’s not in the backseat so you get to complain about it.” 

“I’d complain even if he was,” Ronan grumbles. 

“You wouldn’t,” Adam says, “you’re not as much of an asshole as you like to think you are.” 

“Hmf,” Ronan says. Wants to hold Adam’s hand. Adam’s hands are busy with driving. Unfair, honestly. 

“Want me to come over tonight?” Adam asks, “To stay the night?” 

“Um,” Ronan says, “don’t you have actual homework and shit to do tonight? I’ve kind of been occupying a lot of your time lately.” 

“Well,” Adam says, shrugs, “yeah. But I could bring it over.” 

“Like that worked so well last night,” Ronan snorts, “trying to do your homework while I’m there to bug you.” 

“That was a special case,” Adam says, “yesterday was scary. Today, not so bad.” 

“We still have a few hours left,” Ronan says, “be optimistic. It could get bad again.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” Adam says, “I’ll stay the night, ok? And I will do my homework.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” Ronan mimics back in a crude approximation of Adam’s voice, “fine.” 

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to do.” 

“I never said I didn’t want you to.” 

-

2:42   
-Hi chair knee this is my new number, love ronan. PS. guess your new name in my phone

2:46  
+Queen No-Ahhh  
+Best ever person ever  
+Only Person I Trust to Pluck My Eyebrows  
+Like a Brother to me, but like, a brother who I find sexy

2:47  
-God.   
-Why are you like this. 

2:48  
+You love it  
+so what’s the nae?m

2:49  
-Not telling it has to be guessed. 

2:50  
+Ah you’re in a Mood. 

2:51  
-I’m not  
-You would be too if you hada frucking bodyguard following you making you feel weird about snogging your fucking boyfriend in the car while he’s watching from his car. 

2:52  
+Awwwwwwww poor sookums  
+declan really got you a bodyguard huh? How posh. 

2:53  
-Zfuck off. 

2:54  
+good though. 

2:55  
-Still fuck off

2:56  
+So touchy  
+but I actually am just at class now so bubye 

2:57  
-:(

-

“Hey,” Adam says, he’s got a sheath of menus tucked under one arm, and a cluster of used glasses pinched in his other hand, “do you want something else to drink, babe? On the house.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snorts, “I can pay for my own drinks, you dork. You guys don’t do alcohol here, do you?” 

“Uh,” Adam says, “we do hot toddy’s, and I think sangria between brunch and afternoon tea.” 

“Can I have a hot toddy, then,” Ronan asks, drops his head down on his arms, folded on the top of his small table, “and a kiss.” 

“You can,” Adam says, “but y’know, if you’re bored you could go home. Jack could take you.” 

“I’m not bored,” Ronan says, very, very bored. 

“You look like a kid in a board meeting,” Adam says, “you don’t even have your earphones with you to listen to your disastrously bad music. Go home and do something fun, babe.” 

“The only fun thing I want to do is at work right now,” Ronan says to his arms, “I want to stay here.” 

“I like having you here,” Adam says, bends down over Ronan so he can drop his voice, “I really do, but you’re looking seriously bored. I don’t want you to stay here when you could be - I don’t know, drawing. Reading Gansey’s erotica.” 

“I wanted to talk to him, actually,” Persephone says, suddenly behind Adam. “It’s been a while, I’ve brought him pie.” 

“Oh,” Adam says. Ronan can see Jack in the corner shifting his position, getting a better look at Persephone. He shakes his head just slightly at Jack, attempts a smile at Persephone. 

“I’m certain it’s perfect this time,” Persephone says, puts the entire (entire) fucking pie down on the table, and then pulls the other chair out to sit down next to Ronan, “Adam, be a dear and grab some plates and forks, will you?” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, “mm yes, be a dear and get me that hot tod, too?” 

“You’re not paying me,” Adam says to Ronan, “so you can’t call me a dear. I’ll be back in a minute with the plates and drink.” 

“He really is a dear,” Persephone says. They’re both watching Adam walk away. 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, shifts his gaze from where Adam’s ass disappeared through to the kitchen, and turns to look at Persephone again. “So,” he says, “you wanted to talk to me? Just about the pie?” 

“Oh,” Persephone says, “no. I don’t think the pie needs me to talk for it. I just wanted to see how you were.” 

“I’m fine,” Ronan says. 

“So when I said talk,” Persephone tells him, scrunches her face up a bit, “I really didn’t mean I need you to tell me how you are.” 

“I just did though,” Ronan points out.

“You told me a lie,” Persephone points out back, “I thought you weren’t fond of those?” 

“You’re doing your Yoda impression again,” Ronan grunts, looks away to see Adam coming out of the kitchen again, plates and forks in one hand, Ronan’s drink in the other. Impressively fast. 

“Practiced it for you, I did,” Persephone tells him calmly, and Ronan snorts. 

“Uh,” Adam announces himself, puts the plates and forks down on the table, “apparently Persephone made your drink before she came out, so, here, you don’t even need to wait,” he says, places the drink in front of Ronan. 

“Welcome you are,” Persephone says. 

Adam frowns, “Ok,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Ronan says, also frowns. 

“Right,” Adam says, “I have to actually deal with real customers now, talk to you later, Ro.” 

“Come back,” Ronan mumbles, waves Adam off. 

Persephone plates their pie. 

“You’re worried about Kavinsky,” Persephone says to him, passes him his pie. 

“I’m not,” Ronan says, takes the pie, “how do you know about Kavinsky?” 

“There you go with your lies again,” Persephone says, sticks her fork into her own slice of pie, “I have eyes, don’t I?” 

“That’s not an answer,” Ronan says, doesn’t really think he will get an answer though, so carries on, “I’m not lying. I’m not worried about Kavinsky.” 

“You’re not very good at lying,” Persephone tells him, which is not usually what people say to him when he really, really truly is lying, “but I realised that isn’t actually what I was going to say when I sat down here.” 

Ronan isn’t sure he wants to know what she was actually going to say. Takes a bite of his pie. Which is fucking perfect. 

“I need more art,” Persephone says, “I’m over what I have in here right now, I want something with more feeling.” 

“Right,” Ronan says, “those flower photos are quite naff.” 

“That’s what Calla likes to tell me too,” Persephone says with a sigh, “so, will you do it?” 

“Will I do what?” Ronan asks. 

“Obviously,” Persephone says, “I’m asking you to create a series of paintings to go in here.” 

“The fuck,” Ronan says, “you want me to paint you some shit to go with your theme of ‘pies and peace’?” 

“Well not necessarily painting,” Persephone says breezily, scoops up some of her pie on her fork, “it could be a series of drawings, or photographs, or anything you like, really. It’s up to you.” 

“That’s not what I was finding a problem with,” Ronan says as Persephone chews, “I was more scoffing at the me and peace part.” 

“I’m asking you to do this,” Persephone tells him, “because I don’t think you’re just going to draw a dove, or a clear lake and call it a day.” 

“I feel like I should tell you that most of my latest art pieces involve dicks,” Ronan says. 

“Well I’m sure a lot of people find that peaceful,” Persephone says, her smile is quite smirky. “I want to see peace from the perspective of someone who actually wants it.” 

“So ask someone who does.” 

“I am,” Persephone says, puts more pie in her mouth and talks with her mouth full, “I’ll pay you, of course, and you can take as much time as you need. I’m looking for quality, not quickness.” 

Ronan sighs heavily, eats more pie. Frowns at the wall behind Persephone’s shoulder. 

“Did Calla put you up to this?” he asks. 

“No,” Persephone says, not at all surprised that he’s asking. “The naffness of the flower photos did.” 

“Can I think about it?” 

“Yes,” Persephone says, “why do you need to?” 

“Because you’re commissioning a large body of work,” Ronan snaps, “with very vague guidelines, and I haven’t done any formal fucking art for at least a year.” 

“Yes?” 

“I don’t need to be paid,” Ronan says after a few more moments. 

“Well no,” Persephone scoffs, “but it’s the done thing.” 

“I’ll do it for pie,” Ronan suggests, “or - for the pie recipe.” 

“I’ll teach you to make the pie,” Persephone says, “I’ll give you a lesson for each painting.” 

“Ok good,” Ronan says, nods, “fine. I’ll do it.” 

“Very good,” Persephone says, as if she’s known he was going to say yes all along, “I’ll bring you paper and pencils now so you can start thinking in the space.” 

Ronan considers telling her he isn’t in the mood for drawing right now, then shrugs. She gets up, goes away, comes back with paper and pencils, goes away. 

-

“Persephone’s a bully,” Ronan tells Adam, after his shift is over and they’re driving back to Ronan’s. 

“Is that so?” Adam asks, doesn’t seem perturbed by this statement in the slightest. 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I made it pretty clear I wasn’t keen on doing this, and yet-” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “she has a way of changing your mind. I never actually asked for this job here, you know.” 

“Huh,” Ronan says, snorts, “she’s so wack. I kind of like her.” 

“She’s great,” Adam agrees, glances in the rear view mirror at Jack in his Ford behind them. “It’s so weird knowing I’m being tailed.” 

“Tell me about it,” Ronan sighs, then, changing tack, and shifting sideways in his seat, pulling the seat belt so he can lean closer to Adam, “when you’ve finished your homework tonight,” he says, “can I blow you?” 

Adam chokes on his own spit. The car judders slightly, but stays on course. He pulls up at a busy stop sign, and turns to glare at Ronan. “The fuck,” he says, “excuse me?” 

Ronan shrugs. Adam darts the car forward into a gap in the traffic. 

“I want to give you a blow job,” Ronan says clearly, “and I wanted to give your forewarning about the fact that I wanted to.” 

“I see,” Adam says. His cheeks are slowly flushing pink, his eyes are focused steadily on the road ahead. 

“And,” Ronan continues, “Jane won’t be clawing at the door to let her in while I do it.” 

“But we will have a bodyguard in the next room,” Adam points out, “and a Gansey in the other room as well.” 

“It’s not like you cum loudly,” Ronan retorts, “they wouldn’t know. There won’t be a mess. I swallow.” 

Adam makes a strange noise. 

“You can say no if you don’t want to,” Ronan says, a little miffed, to be quite honest, “I don’t-” 

“Of course I want to,” Adam interrupts, “I...was just surprised. And also - I don’t want to-” 

“To?” 

“I don’t know,” Adam admits, lifts one hand to his mouth to chew on his nails. 

“Is this about how I picked a dumbass fight last time?” Ronan asks, “Or about the fact that I obviously have a fuck load of issues around sex?” 

“Well,” Adam says, pulls up outside Ronan’s, “yes to both, honestly.” 

“I won’t pick another fight,” Ronan says, earnest, “and I’m not - blow jobs are fine. So long as you don’t - I don’t, y’know, uh - deepthroat.” 

Now they’re both blushing. 

Adam is silent for a while, fiddles with the the buckle on his seatbelt, glances over his shoulder to make sure Jack isn’t getting out of his car that he’s parked behind theirs. Isn’t about to interrupt them. 

“If you change your mind halfway,” Adam says, “I want you to know now that that would be totally fine. Ok? You don’t have to go through with this if you decide you don’t want to at any point.” 

Ronan folds his arms across his chest. Nods. 

“And I want-” Adam starts, cheeks growing darker, “-if you’re ok with it,” he says, “I’d like to blow you too.” 

“Kinky,” Ronan says. 

“It isn’t,” Adam says, rolls his eyes, the stilted mood suddenly dropping away, “asshole.” 

“Do you really want to?” 

“Obviously,” Adam says, snorts, undoes his seat belt, “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to, c’mon.” 

“Geez,” Ronan says, “can’t blame me for double checking, especially when you like, fucking quadruple check with me.” 

“Don’t be whiny,” Adam tells him, “let’s go upstairs and sort out the room for Jack, yeah?” 

-

Introductions between Jack and Gansey occur. Gansey goes entirely full housewife, starts fussing about the dust in the spare room, and the state of the sheets. Adam makes everyone coffee. Ronan watches Jack from the corner of the kitchen where he’s standing to be close to Adam and far away from Jack perched at the counter. It’s not that he dislikes Jack. Jack is fine. Jack is, so far, perfectly nice, doesn’t talk much, and looks very capable. He’s just not a fan of Jack being here specifically to watch him. 

Plus, it’s not exactly a secret that he’s not great with new people. 

He had spent the majority of his highschool years, though more easy going than he was currently, very much preferring the company of Gansey and Noah and nobody else ever thank you very much. He knows very well that he probably put off a good handful of potential new friends, both for him, and for Gansey and Noah, simply by refusing to acknowledge that they had the potential to be new friends. He was better at glaring and ignoring people than at pretending he wasn’t jealous that Gansey found them funnier than him, or some other trivial and stupid thing. He had gotten better at opening up, at becoming friends with people after he’d come to university, and then of course, his parents died. After that he’d tended to only open up to people when he was chemically altered, and that was almost always a bad idea. Case in point; Kavinsky, Prokopenko, all of Kavinsky’s friends. 

So, he doesn’t think that Gansey is at all surprised when he peels away from him, Jack, and Adam after they eat dinner (oven burnt frozen savouries), and announces that he’s going to his room to do shit. 

“Ok,” Gansey says cheerfully, “Adam and I have homework. And Jack,” he adds, turning to Jack, “you’re already on the wifi, but if there’s anything else you’d like, feel free to ask. Also feel free to just go to your room seeing as we’re about to become extra boring in here.” 

“I have some research to do,” Jack says easily, also apparently not put off by Ronan’s sudden decision to depart, “I’m a yell away if anything happens,” he adds on. 

Adam follows Ronan out of the kitchen and to his bedroom. His backpack is in Ronan’s room, so he’s ostensibly coming to get his homework. 

“You ok?” Adam asks once they’re in Ronan’s room and he’s pushed the door to behind them, “you seem a bit-?” 

“I’m fine,” Ronan says, digs underneath a pile of his clothes to find his primed canvas, “I just wanted out.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, he’s sitting down on the edge of Ronan’s bed, not making any move to get his homework, “so you’re not feeling super weird about Jack being here?” 

“Obviously I’m feeling super weird about Jack being here,” Ronan snorts, props the canvas up to one side while he searches one handed through the rubble of his desk drawer for the graphite he wants, “I might be a rich fucker, but I’ve never had a bodyguard before, Parrish.” 

“Yeah ‘cos I totally thought you did,” Adam drawls. He’s watching Ronan’s movements with interest, but doesn’t make any comment on them. “I’m just worried about you, is all,” he says, “I don’t like seeing you so uncomfortable.” 

“Well,” Ronan says, not meanly, “you might have to close your eyes then.” Graphites in hand, canvas tucked under his arm, he makes his way over to join Adam on his bed, and plunks himself down, “because I’m estimating I’ll be at least this uncomfortable most of the time for the next month at least.” 

Adam just frowns, shuffles back further on the bed. “Well,” he sighs, “lemme know if there’s anything I can do, ok?” 

“I will,” Ronan says, smiles at Adam, then cocks his head to one side, “aren’t you supposed to be doing your homework? Huh?” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, and then quite suddenly, he’s blushing, “yeah. It’s just - uh - my brain keeps getting distracted when I think about homework right now.” 

“Wh-” Ronan says, and then he’s grinning, leaning forward over the canvas balanced on his knees, “oh,” he says, “you’re thinking about that blow job, huh?” 

“Fuck off,” Adam says, cheeks even pinker than before. Ronan hadn’t realised he had made such an impact, is very excited to see he did. “It’s your fault for tying the two so tightly together, I just-” 

“Thought you could persuade me to give you one before you do your homework?” Ronan interrupts, grinning widely, “because you can’t.” 

Adam glares at him. “No,” he says staunchly, “just, I did want to check on you. I also wanted to kiss you. A bit. And just - I don’t know.” He looks like he might be about to get off of the bed, so Ronan reaches out to grab his arm to tug him closer. 

“So let’s kiss a bit,” he says, “I’m perfectly happy to do that.” 

“Perfectly happy-” Adam mimics back, is leaning in towards Ronan anyway, “I can just go do my homework if you want-” he starts. 

“Fuck that,” Ronan informs him, very serious, puts aside his canvas and graphite and shuffles himself forward over the gap between them so he can lean in against Adam’s chest, “hurry up and kiss me before Gansey comes to fetch you.” 

 

-

 

Ronan doesn’t realise he’d fallen asleep until Adam is quite literally unpeeling his fingers from around his stick of graphite. 

“Nff?” he asks, possibly not quite as coherent as he intended. 

“Yup,” Adam replies, “I already moved the canvas.” 

“Mn,” Ronan says, doesn’t bother opening his eyes, relaxes his hand so Adam can actually take the graphite. Almost falls back asleep again until Adam is perching back by his side, wiping at his palm with a damp cloth. “Th’fuck?” he asks. 

“You’re really grubby,” Adam tells him calmly, keeps wiping at his palm, “and I’m not keen on waking up covered in charcoal or whatever.” 

“Isn’t charcoal,” Ronan says, yawns loudly.

“I said or whatever,” Adam points out. He’s wiping at Ronan’s cheek now, “go back to sleep, babe.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, then, “hmm,” then, “wait no,” he says, finally snapping his eyes open, “I wanna suck your dick.” 

“Oh my God,” Adam groans, he sounds equal parts amused and horrified, “you’re so tenacious. You were asleep ten seconds ago.” 

“Where’s my drawing?” Ronan asks, squints up at Adam through the dim light, “You finished your homework?” 

“I put it on your desk,” Adam says, “along with your...pencils. And yeah, I’m all caught up with everything.” 

“Oh good,” Ronan says, “me too.” 

“What were you catching up?” Adam asks, chucks the cloth at Ronan’s pile of dirty laundry, “Is that painting sketch for something in particular?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “did you look at it?” 

“Not really,” Adam says, soft, “I didn’t know if I was allowed to. Gansey - Gans has said before that you’re quite private about your paintings.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, scrabbles at the mattress and pushes himself up on his side, “so?” he asks, “Can I?” 

“Can you what?” Adam asks, licks his thumb and rubs at a spot on Ronan’s chin. He assumes Adam is rubbing of some graphite, not just wiping his spit onto him. 

“Suck your dick,” Ronan says flatly, “you’re finished your homework.” 

“Right,” Adam says, “aren’t you tired?” 

“Sure,” Ronan says with a shrug, pushes himself more upright and starts tugging at Adam’s shirt, “not too tired.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, far too bashful, assists Ronan in pulling his shirt off, “I just-” 

“God, Parrish,” Ronan sighs, leans in to press a dry kiss to the hollow of Adam’s shoulder, “if you’ve changed your mind, say so, but if you haven’t, stop trying to be careful with me. I wanna.” 

“Right,” Adam says again, exhales loudly, and then pushes back at Ronan, hands moulding around Ronan’s waist as he ducks his head down to kiss him. “Ok,” he says, pulls back again, drops his hands to his jeans button, “you properly awake then?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, very emphatic, bats Adam’s hands away, “God,” he adds in a hiss, shuffles up on his knees and pulls Adam by the elbow until he’s sprawled on the bed, Ronan between his knees. “I haven’t done this for a while,” he says as he undoes Adam’s jeans, “so don’t judge me.” 

“Aw,” Adam says, drops back on his elbows, his chin to his chest as he watches Ronan, “and here I was thinking I’d rate you on Yelp or something.” 

“I hate you,” Ronan says, tugs at Adam’s jeans until Adam lifts his hips up so Ronan can pull them down easier, “also-” he says, “-oh.” 

“Oh?” Adam asks, peers down at Ronan, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Ronan snorts, “I just - I only touched you last time, I didn’t get to see you and-” 

“I’m not up to your specs?” Adam asks, sarcastic, “I don’t meet your aesthetics?” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, grasps Adam’s cock, holds it as if he’s planning on examining it carefully, “you have the fucking best looking cock I’ve seen. It’s just - a lot bigger than I was thinking, I’m not sure how I’m going to fit it all in my mouth.” 

“God,” Adam says, “well you don’t have to-” he says, shudders as Ronan shifts his grip on him, “-ah. You do whatever you’re comfortable with,” he continues, inhales sharply, “just - yeah. It’ll be good whatever you do.” 

“Nerd,” Ronan says.

“Hey,” Adam says, inhales again, louder, “you said it first,” he points out, “last time.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, which is about as much as he can say with his mouth full. 

If he had been looking for one more example in how different intimacy with Adam vs intimacy with Kavinsky was (not that he was, because quite honestly, what intimacy with Kavinsky?), he definitely didn’t need to look any further. The last time he did this, or, the last time he remembered (most of) doing this, there had been hands holding him down. Not something he wants to think about while he’s sucking open mouthed kisses down Adam’s dick. 

Adam’s dropped down fully on his back now so his arms are free to reach down to Ronan. He doesn’t grab that back of Ronan’s head, or try to fist his fingers in what little hair Ronan still has, just cups Ronan’s face, strokes his thumbs over his cheekbones. He wonders if Adam can feel his own cock through Ronan’s cheeks. Makes himself blush with the thought. 

Voice low, Adam says; “You’re so good Ro - shit - just like that-” 

Ronan wants to tease Adam, for how rough his voice got just then, for how hard his thighs are shaking as Ronan pushes against them to get a better angle, for how fast his chest is shifting with his breaths, but. His mouth is full, and anyway, he’s already painfully hard just from sucking cock, so it’s not like he has room to tease anyone. 

He had not been joking about not making a mess. Definitely had not been. Adam seems to have thought he was though, because he gasps something incoherent about cumming, and pushes weakly at Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan, not joking, doesn’t budge, has no intentions of finishing Adam off with his hand while his mouth is right there. Swallows while Adam pants hoarsely. 

“Fuck,” Adam says, hands still on Ronan, fingers curling in against his skin. Ronan wipes his mouth, kisses Adam’s cock again just to see if he’ll gasp out a swear again. He does, and then he’s pulling Ronan up his body. “Fuck,” he says, “I wanna kiss you.” 

“I taste like cock,” Ronan warns, full of mischief and the feeling of a job well done. Adam is still shaking underneath him, “and cum.” 

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Adam asks, drags his hands down Ronan’s cheeks and cups his chin, “I wanna kiss you.” 

Ronan kisses him, then kisses him a bit more, then kisses him a bit harder as Adam’s hands wander down from his face to his shoulders, down his back, to cup his ass to pull him in closer. 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, needs to take a break from the high energy kissing to pant into the pillow while Adam mouths at the side of his face, squeezes his ass.

“My turn,” Adam mumbles into Ronan’s ear, “because - fuck - you are so hard.” 

“Could probably just cum like this,” Ronan says, again, definitely not joking, “if you keep - mm - touching like -” 

“I wanna blow you too,” Adam says, “I wanna make you feel as good as I do right now.” 

“Ah -” Ronan says, “well,” he says, “who am I to argue with that?” 

“Mhm,” Adam says, apparently he’s regained enough strength already, because he just fucking flips Ronan over like he weighs nothing, and is kissing down his neck, “did it turn you on that much?” Adam mumbles into his skin, hands already working Ronan out of his pants. 

“Fuck off,” Ronan grumbles, shifts up to assist Adam in undressing him, gets his foot stuck in his pants until Adam tugs it off and chucks them onto the floor, “it’s been a while.” 

“I’m not upset about it,” Adam snorts, his nose pressed in just about Ronan’s hipbone, his mouth wet on Ronan’s skin, “It’s - fuckin’ hot.” 

“God,” Ronan says, “stop talking about my dick and do something with it.” 

“I didn’t say anything about Gansey,” Adam retorts quickly, pops his head up to grin at Ronan. Ronan groans. “But ok,” Adam adds, shuffling backwards so he can get down between Ronan’s legs properly, “any ground rules?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “don’t fucking talk about Gansey.” 

“I can do that,” Adam says easily, takes Ronan down just as easily. 

Ronan thinks that possibly he ought to have told Adam that, despite having given blowjobs before, he is very much inexperienced in receiving them. He also thinks there’s probably no point in telling Adam this, because having told him or not, he’s still going to have been completely unprepared for how fucking good Adam’s mouth on him was going to be. This fucking asshole ought to come with a warning, quite honestly. 

“Uh-” Ronan says, “I’m gonna-” he says, as much as he can get out before he’s losing control of the majority of his muscles, and Adam is swallowing smoothly around him, gripping his hips tightly. 

-

“So,” Adam says a while later, pulls the blankets up around them, kisses Ronan lightly on the cheek, “that was pretty fucking nice.” 

“Pretty fucking nice,” Ronan repeats, incredulous, “I dunno about you but I feel like I just got my fucking soul sucked out through my dick.” 

“Ugh,” Adam groans, “why would you say that.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a masters in cock sucking?” Ronan says, possibly a little too loudly, rolls onto Adam, “A doctorate in deep throating? I could have died, Parrish.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Adam says, wraps his arms around Ronan’s waist and holds him there comfortably, “you belong in the theatre, Lynch.” 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, “apparently you’re not meant to give the audience the finger while you’re on stage.” 

“I’ve not heard that,” Adam snorts, “but I believe it.” 

 

-

 

Wednesday  
7:03 (am)  
#Pty u dnt go 2 bxng w y bb bro nymr

-

Ronan wakes up at 7.58 when Adam rolls over him to get out of bed. Checks his phone at 7:59 when Adam remarks that it’s flashing as he walks out of the room with a towel slung over his shoulder. Calls Declan at 8. 

“If you’re calling to complain about Jack,” Declan says in greeting, “can you please leave that for another few hours-” 

“Kavinsky is texting me from Matthew’s phone,” Ronan says in a rush, “texted me an hour ago. I just woke up. He’s got Matthew’s phone. Or Matthew. Or both-” 

“Wait,” Declan says, voice shifted from low and lazy to frantic with that one word, “an hour ago? Only one text? What did he say?” 

“That it was a pity I don’t box with Matty anymore,” Ronan reels off from memory, “Dec, God-” 

“You pray to God,” Declan snaps, “I’m calling the police and heading down to Matthew’s gym.” 

“Wait,” Ronan says, “what can I do- don’t - God - don’t hang up-” 

“Tell Jack,” Declan orders, “and call Grant. Let him know what’s going on. I’ll keep you updated.” 

“Dec-” Ronan says, Declan hangs up. A text flashes up on Ronan’s phone seconds later as he’s lowering it from his ear. 

-

8:01  
>don’t text k back. 

-

“Ronan?” Gansey asks, knocks on the door before pushing it open. Ronan knows he’s only knocking in case Adam is in here in an indecent state. “Something going on?” 

“I have to wake Jack up,” Ronan announces, throws his legs out of bed and strides towards the door only to be stopped by Gansey’s hand at his chest. 

“Pants first,” Gansey says, quite firm, “and tell me what’s wrong?” 

Ronan swears, grabs the first pair of pants he touches, which turns out to be an inside out t-shirt so he has to grab another pair, and tugs them on. “Kavinsky just texted me from Matthew’s phone,” he says shortly, “so - fuck. Is Jack up?” he asks, pushes past Gansey to get through the door. Gansey doesn’t stop him this time. 

“I’m up,” Jack says, comes out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand. “Something about Kavinsky you said?” 

“Yes,” Ronan snaps, hates the fact that he’s having to say the same thing over and over again. “He just texted me from Matthew’s phone. Declan’s calling the police. Told me to tell you and Grant what’s going on.” 

“Ah,” Jack says, frowns, “can I see the text?” 

Ronan throws the phone in Jack’s direction, turns to Gansey, “I need to go to the gym,” he says. 

Jack and Gansey speak as one. 

“You don’t.” 

Ronan turns to Jack first, because he’s the one who spoke the loudest. 

“You don’t,” Jack repeats, firmly, “you need to stay here where we can be sure you’re safe.” 

“What’s the fucking point?” Ronan spits, “If Matthew isn’t safe?” 

“He might be,” Jack says with a shrug, “and it’ll do no one any good if you go get into trouble, whether or not Matthew is. How can you be sure this is Kavinsky texting you?”

“Matthew doesn’t text like that,” Ronans ays, shrugs off Gansey’s hand as he rests it on Ronan’s shoulder, “K does. It’s him, ok? I know it is.” 

“It might not be,” Jack presses calmly, “so you don’t need to be so panicked.” 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, shrugs Gansey’s hand off again, “I’m going to be panicked any-fucking-way because it is K, and so Matthew is in danger, and I’m not-” 

“What’s going on?” Adam asks, appears dripping in the bathroom doorway, towel wrapped around his waist, soap bubbles still on his skin, “Matthew’s in danger?” 

Ronan groans.

“K texted me,” he says to Adam, “on Matthew’s phone. Declan’s got the police on it. Jack here is refusing to let me out of the house.” 

“Oh God,” Adam says, eyes flickering past Ronan to Gansey and Jack, then he says, “good. You need to stay here.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ronan snaps, “I need to call Grant,” he remembers, whirls round to Jack and holds his phone out, “give it back.” 

Jack hands it over. Still calm. Ronan could tear him limb to limb. Does he not get that Matthew could be in real life danger right now? That Kavinsky does not give a fuck that Matthew is so fucking young? That Matthew is so fucking lovely? He calls Grant. He blurts it all out. Grant tells him to fucking stay home. To not text Kavinsky back. To tell him if he receives anymore messages. Ronan hangs up. Very carefully does not throw his phone at the nearest wall. 

“Ronan,” Adam is saying, still dripping onto the floor, “what-” 

“I have to stay here,” Ronan snaps, “there,” he says to Jack, to Gansey, to Adam. “fucking happy?” 

“Not exactly,” Gansey says, reaches for Ronan again, Ronan, again, flinches away. 

“Ronan,” Adam says, “come have a shower.” 

Ronan doesn’t want a shower. Ronan wants to jump out his fucking bedroom window and go look for Matthew. He reaches for Adam’s hand. Lets Adam lead him to the bathroom. 

“Do you need to yell?” Adam asks him, turns the shower back on, “Because you can if you want to.” 

Ronan wants to yell. Then he thinks about how small this room is. How loud it would echo in here. How loud it would be in Adam’s one ear. How Adam had probably encountered enough yelling in his life already. Swallows his yells. 

“No,” he says, “I want to strangle Kavinsky.” 

“Well he’s not here,” Adam says, “and Declan is dealing with this. So I can offer you screaming solace, or shower solace.” 

“Shower solace,” Ronan grumbles, swallows hard, needs to choke back the swelling urge to open the bathroom door to yell at Gansey and Jack. This wasn’t their fault. This wasn’t their fault. This wasn’t Adam’s fault. This was Ronan’s fault. Ronan and Kavinsky’s fault. Always their fault. Always. “I’m sticky still,” he adds. 

“We probably should have showered last night,” Adam says, “‘no mess’ is never actually no mess.” 

“So sue me,” Ronan grunts, crosses the room in one stride to press himself along Adam’s back, “or hold me. Or both.” 

“Ok,” Adam says. Ronan had been thinking that Adam was calm, that Adam was composed, but when he turns round to tug Ronan into his arms, he can see Adam’s face is taut. “It’s going to be ok,” he says against Ronan’s cheek, “it’s going to be fine.” 

“You don’t know that,” Ronan says, because he can’t imagine saying anything else, “I can’t bear to think that and have it not be true.” 

He’s very damp now, damp, and sticky, and a little cold standing half naked in the bathroom holding onto his wet boyfriend. There had been 100% more wet hugs lately. 

“Let’s get in the shower then,” Adam says, “and we’ll wait it out, ok? We’ll get clean, and then get dressed, and have breakfast, and we’ll wait for news. And it’s going to be awful, but that’s what we’re going to do.” 

“I don’t want to,” Ronan says, clings tighter to Adam, “I don’t want to.” 

-

Kavinsky has texted more when Ronan and Adam re-emerge, clean, dried, dressed, and very hungry. His phone is on the kitchen counter next to Jack, who is on the phone making a series of listening noises. Gansey is making what looks like the second coffee pot of the day, a stack of buttered toast next to him, still sizzling eggs in the pan. 

“Your phone’s been going off,” Gansey says when they come in, Adam in front, Ronan clutching onto the back of his shirt like a child. “I checked it for you, sorry, it’s from Matthew’s phone, so we called Declan and told him what it said.” 

“What did it say?” Ronan asks, lets Adam lead him over to the bench, sits down on the stool furthest from Jack. Gansey pushes a plate in front of him, ferries toast and egg onto it. 

“It’ll probably be easiest if you read them for yourself,” Gansey tells him, “do you want coffee?” 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “in a bowl.” 

-

8:13  
#aw alrdy gt dicklan on th cse huh?????  
#sch a gd brthr  
#sch a brng mv tho  
#lk sht 

8:14  
#snce wen r u sch a pssy???????  
#u lft ur blls n thrpy?????  
#r dd u cut thm off wn u tryd 2 kll urslf?  
#s tht y u wldnt lmme fk u tht tme?  
#u no

8:15  
#i cn fk u wtht ur blls. Idc. u stll hv a hl.   
#thts al i nd.  
#dum ass

8:16  
#u wna no wre bb matty is?

8:17  
#ho-ro  
#fckass  
#shtwsl

8:18  
#i no u wnna no  
#bt myb ur bg bro lrdy tk ur ph awy????  
#r u rdng ths dcln?  
#if u r  
#i wnt u 2 no

8:19  
#imma fk bth ur bb bros up  
#ur gnna b th nly 1 lft  
#u n ur veg mummy

-

Ronan doesn’t really want to eat the over buttered toast in front of him, or the fried eggs. Definitely not the cherry tomatoes Gansey’s plopped on the side of the plate as if he thinks Ronan should at least be eating a little healthily in times of crisis. 

He drinks all his coffee. Then he drinks another mug of coffee. He tells Adam to go to work. Adam does not go to work. He drinks another cup of coffee. He tells Adam to go to work. Adam does not go to work. He tries to drink another cup of coffee but Gansey stops him. He tells Gansey to go to hell. Gansey does not go to hell. Gansey tells him to drink water. Ronan does not want to drink water. Adam tells him to drink water. Ronan drinks a little bit of water. He tells Adam to go to work. Adam does not go to work. He tells Jack to go to hell. Jack does not go to hell. He drinks more water. 

Kavinsky texts more.

Neither Gansey or Jack (or Adam, though he doesn’t say so verbally) will let him read the texts from Kavinsky first. They hold his phone ransom, and forward the texts to Declan, check with him first before they let Ronan read them. 

It’s nothing useful. It’s Kavinsky taunting them. It’s Kavinsky crowing about the fact that Declan’s looking in the wrong place. It’s Kavinsky saying how easy it was to take Matthew. It’s Kavinsky saying how very pretty Matthew is, how it almost gives him ideas. It’s Ronan smashing his coffee mug. It’s Adam flinching hard enough that Ronan’s scared he’s cut himself on the pieces. It’s a fuck load of guilt. It’s Ronan locking himself in his room. 

-

“I’m fine,” he can hear Adam saying, calm, calm, very quiet, especially in comparison to the jovial tone of Gansey trying to sound unaffected. “It just gave me a shock. No, I’m not hurt.” 

“He should know better,” Gansey says, still too loudly, “even while he’s so upset.” 

“I said I’m fine,” Adam says, his voice cuts sharply through Gansey’s, “so don’t.” 

There’s a silence filled only with the soft hush and clink of Ronan’s mug being swept up. A faint background hum of Jack still on the phone with Kelly. He can hear his phone going off again. Wishes he’d had the foresight to bring it with him. 

“Ronan,” Adam says outside his door. He doesn’t try the handle, must have heard the audible click when Ronan had locked it, “are you ok?” 

“Oh,” Ronan snaps back, “of fucking course I’m fine.” 

“Right,” Adam says, “do you want to let me in?” 

“No,” Ronan says. 

A short silence. 

“Do you want to talk to Gansey?” 

“No.” 

He can hear Adam sighing, so he clears his throat, speaks again. 

“Go to uni, Adam,” he says, “there’s no reason for you to be here waiting with the rest of us.” 

“Sure,” Adam says, voice suddenly tight with annoyance, “wanting to be here for my boyfriend isn’t a reason. Being scared isn’t a reason.” 

Ronan snorts, can’t reign in his stupid, stupid, stupid anger. It’s not really anger, it’s pure fear, being filtered out through his mouth as rage. “You don’t need to be scared,” he says, “K isn’t going to come for you now, he has Matthew. That’s all he needs.” 

Adam is silent on the other side of the door. Ronan is full of regrets. Goes to open his mouth, but Adam speaks. 

“That wasn’t what I was scared of,” he says sharply, “if you really want me to leave, I will.” 

“Go then,” Ronan says loudly, possibly yells it, stupid, stupid, stupid, “go the fuck to uni.” Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. 

There isn’t a response from Adam. Nothing. Nothing. Then there’s Gansey speaking to him through the wood. 

“Adam just left,” he says, then, “I know you’re upset, Ronan, we’re all upset, but you can’t-” 

“Don’t,” Ronan snaps, “don’t.” 

“If I don’t,” Gansey says, “who the fuck will?” 

“What did Kavinsky say?” Ronan asks, doesn’t want to be having this conversation, “What did his latest texts say.” 

“The same shit,” Gansey says, voice hollow, “Declan doesn’t have any news either.” 

Ronan returns to his in-room activity, which just so happens to be shredding his canvas. It’s therapeutic, the way it curls away from the wooden frame, the way it stains his fingers with graphite. 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “please come out.” 

“I came out fucking years ago, remember?” Ronan says, “Pretty sure I said some shit like, oh fuck Aragorn is fucking hot.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “please.” 

“I can wait for bad news in here just as well as I can out there.” 

“Yes,” Gansey agrees, “but I can’t look after you as well while you’re locked in there.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Ronan grunts, breaks the frame over his knee. 

“What are you doing in there?” Gansey asks, “Are you safe?” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says. 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “I can, and will, break your door down if I get freaked out. What are you doing in there?” 

“Ripping a fucking painting up,” Ronan says, “I’m not fucking hurting myself, God. Just. Fuck. Leave me the fuck alone unless you have good news.” 

Gansey’s silent for long enough that Ronan thinks he’s left as well. Then he says; “I’m not leaving you. You can be a shit if you like, but I’m not leaving. I’m just gonna stay right here.” There’s a small thump; Gansey sitting down against the door. 

Ronan wants to launch himself into the fucking sun. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at Adam,” Ronan says, drops the splintered remains of his painting sketch to the floor, “I fucked up.” 

“Yeah,” Gansey says, doesn’t try to soften this, “you did.” 

“I don’t want to be a shit to you either,” Ronan says. 

“I know,” Gansey says. 

“I’m fucked up,” Ronan says, kicks at his mess on the floor. 

“No,” Gansey says, voice loud so Ronan can’t help but hear him, even over his scuffling and heavy breathing, “you fucked up. Different.” 

“Not in my case,” Ronan argues, thinks Calla would probably be rolling her eyes right now, doesn’t care. “I’m fucked up, Gansey,” he says, “I’m fucked up. I let him fuck me up. I let him. I’m still letting him. There’s not going to be any me left to fuck up if Matthew doesn’t get out of this ok.” 

Gansey is silent for a while. 

“Open the door,” he says, “please.” 

“Why?” Ronan says. 

“Because,” Gansey says, “you’re spiralling. You’re - you know none of this is true, and I know you know this, and I want to see you.” 

“Are you scared?” Ronan asks, knows it’s unfair of him to ask this. 

“Yes,” Gansey says, “I am. Please.” 

Ronan unlocks the door. 

Gansey looks at him, his eyes travelling up Ronan’s body carefully, looking for signs of damage, then he looks behind Ronan into the carnage of his room, then he reaches up, tugs at Ronan’s hand until Ronan bends and sits down on the floor next to him. 

“Kavinsky isn’t going to hurt Matthew,” Gansey says, “because then you would really, truly hate him. You would never go back to him if he hurt Matthew.” 

“That wouldn’t stop him,” Ronan says. 

“It would,” Gansey retorts, “it will. He doesn’t want that. He’s selfish, and he’s uncaring, but he’s not going to do this when he knows the only result will be what he doesn’t want.” 

“He doesn’t care about me that much,” Ronan says, “I think this entire series of shitty events is proof of that.” 

“Matthew’s going to get out of this ok,” Gansey reiterates, “Declan’s gonna make sure of it.” 

“Declan doesn’t have any leverage on Kavinsky,” Ronan says, leans in against Gansey’s side. 

“He’ll get some,” Declan insists, squeezes the back of Ronan’s neck. 

“What’s Kavinsky been saying?” Ronan asks, voice dull. 

Gansey fishes around in his pockets, pulls Ronan’s phone out, hands it wordlessly over. 

“He’s just been texting every few minutes,” he says, “random threats, stupid shit. We honestly think he might have just set it to send some vapid message by itself.” 

Ronan unlocks his phone, already open to Kavinsky’s messages, scrolls down them for the latest ones.

-

11:19  
#bb mattys v scrd  
#he dsnt play tuf lk u n dicln

11:22  
#thnk hed sht up if i pt smthn n hs mth?

11:24  
#;)

11:27  
#aw its sd u r nt rsng 2 ths   
#bt i cn imgn ur fc  
#v grtfyng

11:29  
#o  
#matty bb is cryn

11:32  
#u 2 cry th sm

-

This isn’t just vapid shit. This is complete fucked up shit. This is- Ronan can’t fucking think straight. He thinks that if he looks at these messages any longer his head is going to explode. He’s going to smash something a lot more important than a dumbass painting. The phone vibrates in his hand again, and he looks at it before Gansey can. 

-

11:36  
#cm 2 me ro n ill gv u matty bk   
#u no wre i am

-

“The fuck?” Gansey says, peers over Ronan’s shoulder, “What does he mean you know where he is? And-” 

“There’s this fucking clearing in the forest just out of the city,” Ronan says, words spilling out of him before he’s even processed that of fucking course that’s where they are. “They run fucked up races there. Tree dodging. Drugs. It’s K’s favourite place. They’re there.” 

“Oh fuck,” Gansey says, scrambles for his own phone, “Jack!” He yells, “Jack, we think we might have a location.” He’s dialling for Declan with one hand, gripping onto Ronan’s shirt with the other. “You’re not going,” he says to Ronan even as he slams his phone to his ear, “you’re not rising to this bait.” 

Jack comes thumping into the hallway as Declan answers, listens carefully as Gansey spills out the information, as Ronan takes the phone and adds to this information, speaking carefully and quickly. 

-

This is the plan; the police, Declan, and Kelly are headed out to the forest. Declan and Gansey refuse as one person to let Ronan join, so Jack is taking Ronan (and Gansey) to the outskirts of the city so he’s at least close enough that when they rescue Matthew, he can be right there. The plan should also involve Adam, but, Ronan discovered very quickly that Adam had left his phone behind. 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, torn with indecision as he holds Adam’s phone with one hand, his in the other. Adam’s phone is still ringing, Ronan’s name with a small emoji heart flashing on the screen. “I don’t want to be just gone,” he says to Gansey, “I- he’ll come back to get his phone. I- what do we do?” 

“Gansey should stay here,” Jack says, “he can fill Adam in, and then the both of you can join us.” 

“Well,” Gansey says, looks from Ronan to Jack, “well, yes, but, I really ought to come with you two-” 

“You should,” Jack agrees, “but it isn’t necessary. Although, I suppose it isn’t necessary to tell Parrish either. He won’t die if he can’t access his phone for a few hours.” Jack’s being awfully blase over the whole thing. It pisses Ronan off. 

“We could call Jane,” Gansey suggests, “or Noah, and ask them to wait here, or track Adam down while we go-” 

“There isn’t time,” Jack points out, “the police are headed in now. We can’t wait on your friends.” 

“Gansey,” Ronan says, doesn’t know what he wants more; Gansey with him, or Adam not to feel even more abandoned. He doesn’t want to hurt Adam. He doesn’t want to hurt Gansey either. “Please,” he says, grabs at Gansey’s hand, “please, will you stay?” 

Gansey’s shoulders slump, but he nods, “If that’s what you want,” he says, “of course I will.” 

“Thank you,” Ronan says, feels like he doesn’t have time to say more, because Jack is already nodding at the door. He presses Adam’s phone into Gansey’s palm, follows Jack. 

-

Jack, thank God above, drives very sensibly. Which is to say, he doesn’t pay attention to most road rules, and drives fast enough that Ronan feels like he’s leaving several parts of his intestines behind. It’s a good feeling. It’s a very good feeling, in fact, until Ronan bothers to look out the window. 

“Jack,” he says, “pretty sure you missed the exit.” 

“Oh shit,” Jack says, glances in the rearview mirror, swears again, “I did,” he agrees, “I can’t turn round here. We’re coming up to another exit though, we’ll turn around there. It’ll be fine.” 

It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’s not like Matthew’s wellbeing is actually reliant on how fast Ronan gets there. He knows that. It’s about how well the police do. It’s about how crazy Kavinsky feels today. It’s about a lot of things that have nothing to do with him. “Ok,” he says. 

They pull out only a few minutes later, Jack drives them smoothly down the off ramp, turns the corner, pulls over, glances over his shoulder to check the traffic behind them, his hand on the back of Ronan’s seat, and then stabs Ronan in the neck with a fucking needle. 

 

-

 

He thinks that maybe he ought to be more surprised, when he comes to, that he can recognise where he is even with his eyes shut and his head aching. He knows this smell anywhere. He knows it blind, with his hands tied behind his back, pressing painfully into the ridges of his spine as they are now. It smells, mostly, like weed. Like vodka and drugs. Like that disgustingly overpriced cologne that K likes. Like his own blood and spit, even though it hasn’t been spilled yet. 

He thinks maybe he ought to be less surprised that he’s back here. That he feels like he was always going to be back here. 

“You can open your eyes,” Kavinsky says, “I know you’re awake.” 

“Maybe,” Ronan grits out, finds it hard to move his mouth, wonders what the fuck Jack shot him up with, “I don’t want to see your ugly ass face.” 

Kavinsky laughs. “I missed this,” he says, “you acting all rebellious in my car, me knowing you’re gonna give in soon.” 

“Where’s Matthew?” Ronan asks, opens his eyes now because he needs to see where he is. He has no fucking clue where he is even with his eyes open. “What have you done with him? If you’ve hurt him I’m going to fucking kill you-” 

“Oh please,” Kavinsky scoffs, he’s lighting up a blunt held between his teeth, “you don’t need to do that. He’s fine, probably.” 

“The fuck do you mean probably?” Ronan yells, attempts to at least, his throat feels numb. 

“If your big bro found him in time,” Kavinsky says, shrugs, the very picture of nonchalance, “Jack told me you figured out where he was, thanks to my little clue, so maybe he’s ok. I don’t know, I don’t care.” 

Gansey was so wrong about Kavinsky not wanting Ronan to hate him. 

“If he’s not ok,” Ronan hisses, he can do that with his badly functioning mouth, “you are going to fucking live to regret it.” 

“Which is it?” Kavinsky asks, slams the heel of his hand against the wheel, horn blaring harshly around them, “Are you going to kill me? Or am I going to live my life out in misery?” 

Everything hurts too much for Ronan to even try to be witty about this. 

“How did you get to Jack?” he asks instead, and Kavinsky laughs again. Fuck, he hates K’s laugh. 

“Please,” he says, “everyone knows bodyguards are only loyal to money.” 

Ronan hates him so much. 

“Anyway,” Kavinsky says, takes a long drag from his blunt, then, ridiculously, flicks it into the backseat, “enough chit chat, time to drive.” 

“What?” Ronan snaps, “Drive where?” 

“Does it matter?” Kavinsky asks, turns the key in the ignition, brings his car roaring to life, “The end result’s gonna be the same no matter what.” 

“Where are you taking me?” Ronan demands, writhes in his seat, tries to get some grip on something, anything. His hands are too tightly tied. He can’t feel his fingertips. Kavinsky pulls them with a scrunching noise onto the road, puts his foot to the metal, presses the both of them back in their seats with the inertia. 

“Baby,” Kavinsky sighs, “try not to be a bitch about this, ok?” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan spits, writhes again, “what the fuck do you want?” 

“I’ve told you a million times,” Kavinsky says, very serious, very calm, even as he takes corners at least 20 K over the speed limit, “I wanna have fun.” 

“What do you want from me?” Ronan asks, wonders if he can somehow get the door open, if he can roll out, if the force of it would kill him, if it would be worth it. 

“Door’s locked, sugar doll,” Kavinsky says, sing-songy, “and I’ve told you what I want from you as well. God, do you never listen?” 

Ronan leans hard against the door anyway, just in case, tries to bring a knee up to push at the door handle, discovers his ankles are tied together. Kavinsky brakes hard. Ronan flies forward into the dashboard, doesn’t have his hands to break his fall, hears his nose crunch as he makes contact. 

Kavinsky leans over, tugs him back upright, pats his cheek. All Ronan can hear is the rush in his ears and the squelch of blood pouring from his face. He thinks Kavinsky is speaking. Can’t tell. They’re moving again. 

“How about some music?” Kavinsky is saying, “We have a long drive ahead of us, and I’m not feeling very talkative, to be quite honest.” 

“Let me go,” Ronan gasps, because that has worked before, “let me go. Let me out. I’ll do whatever you want, just fucking-” 

Kavinsky snorts at him, “Please,” he says, “whatever I want? We both know that’s a lie.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Ronan demands, “Are you trying to make sure you lose this fucking case? Are you wanting to spend the rest of your leech like miserable life in a fucking stinking cell?” 

“You have no imagination,” Kavinsky says, “this is why you’re a bad artist.”

“Are you going to rape me again?” Ronan asks, wants to know how disassociated he’s going to need to be for the rest of this hellscape he’s currently in, “Is that what you want?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Kavinsky snorts, “rape you? Not that I have anything against rape, mind, but you fucking loved my dick.” 

“You know I didn’t,” Ronan says. Everything about him right now feels wrong. Like he’s a piece of food left out to rot. Like he’s a smashed glass. Like he’s a blunt needle. “I didn’t. I didn’t.” 

Kavinsky mimics his words back at him, laughs more, turns his stereo on, turns the volume up loud until Ronan can feel it in his teeth, in his veins, in the backs of his eyeballs. 

His face is still bleeding, and now that the initial shock of the pain is over, the dull ache and sharp sting is setting in. His nose is almost definitely broken. There’s blood in his mouth. The numbness in his fingertips in spreading slowly up his fingers. Everything hurts. Especially his head. It’s hard to concentrate with the pain in it, with the music blocking everything else out, with the fear blurring his vision. He needs to know what Kavinsky wants. Needs to know where Kavinsky is taking him. Needs to know if Matthew is ok. Needs to fucking punch Jack in the fucking face that fucking asshole. 

Kavinsky isn’t paying any attention to him. He’s fucking singing along to his trash music, lighting up another blunt as if he hadn’t just fucking chucked his last one in the backseat. Ronan watches the outside zoom past. Doesn’t recognise it. Doesn’t recognise it. Recognises it. 

“The fuck,” he says loudly, leans in his seat to look behind them at the sign they’d just zoomed past, “the fucking fuck,” he says, “why the fuck are we going to Henrietta?” 

Kavinsky slams the breaks on again. Ronan is no more prepared or capable of defending himself than he was last time. Smashes into the dashboard again, this time with the side of his head cracking against hard plastic. The car hums with the sudden stop. Kavinsky reaches out and turns the music down. 

“What was that, princess?” he asks, “You got something to say, huh?” 

Ronan groans, tries to pull himself up and back into the seat but just crumples down further. He can feel the blood sticky at his temple. Kavinsky yanks him roughly back up, shoves him back into his seat. 

“You should be wearing your seatbelt,” he taunts, “it’s dangerous otherwise.” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan says, spits blood. Isn’t sure if it’s blood that’s gotten into his mouth from his nose, or if he bit his tongue. 

“Usually it’s the other way around,” Kavinsky says easily, “but I’m easy.” 

“Why are we going to Henrietta?” Ronan demands again, closes his eyes. Everything is spinning around him. He’s too queasy with pain and whatever fucked up drug is in his system to keep speaking and keep his eyes open. 

“Oh,” Kavinsky says, “we’re not.” 

“The fuck we’re not,” Ronan snaps, “this is the road to Henrietta. Why?” 

“We’re not,” Kavinsky repeats, loud, shoves the side of Ronan’s face with the heel of his hand, “we’re going somewhere even more special.” 

Ronan has to pause. Has to swallow. Blood and spit. “Singer Falls?” he asks. 

Kavinsky laughs. Laughs more. Laughs. Takes a drag of his blunt. 

“No,” he says, “you’d like that though, wouldn’t you? Me taking you home? Maybe I should. Maybe I should take you home. Make sure your last memories of that place is me fucking you in your childhood bedroom. What d’you think?” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan says weakly. Even the insides of his eyelids are spinning. 

“I’m not taking you home,” Kavinsky says, “it’s even more special.” 

Ronan can’t think of anywhere more special. Can’t think much at all. Can’t think.

“It’s ok,” Kavinsky drawls, “I know you’re feeling a little bit out of it, you just have a good nap now. I’ll wake you when we get there.” 

There’s no fucking way Ronan’s going to just fucking go to sleep. He tells this to Kavinsky. Kavinsky laughs again. 

“Here,” he says, plucks the blunt from between his lips and pushes it to Ronan’s. Ronan holds his breath. “Seriously?” Kavinsky asks, laughs, “You’re so fucking straight up now you won’t even smoke a little bit of weed? God. Your boyfriend fucking you with a steel pole or something?” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan reiterates. Kavinsky pulls the blunt away, takes a drag. He reaches over, grabs Ronan’s face hard, pulls Ronan’s face to his, clamps his mouth over Ronan’s. He digs his fingers into Ronan’s jaw, forces him to open, then exhales smoke into Ronan’s mouth. Keeps his mouth plastered over Ronan’s, pushing his tongue in, pushing his taste in. All sharp alcohol and copper and something spicy. Ronan tries to breathe it out, tries to push Kavinsky away, tries to bite down, to close his mouth. Fails on all of these. Swallows down smoke and Kavinsky’s spit. Can’t do anything to stop Kavinsky from licking into his mouth. Can’t do anything to stop Kavinsky from taking another drag and shotgunning it again right down his throat. Is useless. Is pathetic. Is weak. Is slowly falling asleep. Can’t help it. 

-

“Wake up shit stack,” Kavinsky says, pairs this with a slowly tightening squeeze around Ronan’s throat. He’s not sure if it’s the lack of air that wakes him, or the yelling. “We’re almost there, any ideas where there is yet?” 

He has to take a few moments of just breathing, just blinking, just trying to push the fucking pain and nausea down before he can even focus on what’s outside the car windows. They’re still on the road to Henrietta. Much closer than they were before. That’s all he can tell. Doesn’t know what else K can be talking about. 

“You really are kinda useless,” Kavinsky sighs. He’d released Ronan’s throat once Ronan had gasped awake, but now his hand was back, stroking down the side of Ronan’s blood sticky face. “We’re so close,” he says, “we’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

They’re in the middle of fuck nowhere. They’re at least an hour away from any major town. There’s possibly a petrol station, or a veggie trailer within he next few minutes, but nothing more. 

“Pay attention,” Kavinsky snaps, “I thought this was the biggest fucking thing in your life, huh?” 

Oh right.

The road they were on now was unerringly straight. Smooth, and quite quiet. In a few minutes, it would split off in two different directions. The corners were hairpin like. The road is curved around a large logging factory, making way for it as if it existed before the road did. There are road signs leading up to it, letting drivers know that they need to slow, letting them know that there are constant heavy rumbling trucks. They pass one of these signs as Ronan stares out the window. Even in his drug and pain muddled mind, he has sense enough to know they are going too fast. 

“You got it,” Kavinsky grins, sharklike. Unfeeling. 

“This is your big plan?” Ronan spits, chokes on his own blood, “taking me to the site of their car crash? The hell.” 

“That’s part of my big plan,” Kavinsky says, shrugs, “my bigger plan, I may as well tell you, is to not go to prison. Because, you see,” he says, suddenly very chatty, “I think I would do well there and all, I could probably get out sooner than they want to let me out, but I don’t really wanna go.” 

Ronan can’t even begin to guess where Kavinsky is going with this. 

“So you see,” Kavinsky says, shrugs, “I’ve been so fucking bored, lately. You haven’t been playing properly, and I thought to myself, what’s something I haven’t done yet?” 

Ronan can’t even begin to guess what Kavinsky hasn’t done yet. 

“It’s a bit of a gift to you too,” Kavinsky says, cheerful, “and a punishment. Y’know? Kind of like, why the fuck do I have to do everything round here myself?” 

“What?” Ronan grits out, “What are you talking about?” 

“You see,” Kavinsky continues, presses his foot down on the accelerator until the car growls and shudders in response, “your problem is that you never try hard enough. You don’t put enough commitment into shit, do you? You’re a fan of poetic justice, yeah? So let’s go get some.” 

“What-” Ronan asks. 

“You think one of us will turn into a veggie?” Kavinsky asks, “I think it’d probably be you, you’re the fucking girl in this relationship, aren’t you? Think your brothers will grow your hair out? Put you in he same room as your mummy?” 

Ronan can see the turn off. Can see the multiple signs warning them to slow, to be careful, to watch out, to not do what Kavinsky is currently doing. 

“Are you crying?” Kavinsky asks, sounds amused, “Seriously? You fag. You wanted this first, y’know. You should be thanking me-” 

 

-

 

Ronan’s had a lot of dreams about this. Has been having them for a while now. Ever since he got that phone call from Declan at 4 am after the argument he’d had with his father. He’s dreamed it a hundred different ways. He’s dreamed that he had been the one to drive home late on a Sunday night, a little bit angry, a little bit tipsy. That he had been the one to crash into the logging truck. That is parents had been already home, safe and tucked into bed. 

He’s dreamed that everything was the same as the original night, except when the collision happened, their bodies were swapped out with Ronan’s. 

He’s dreamed that it was him they crashed into, not some stranger in a truck. That they all died on impact. That there was no time for guilt and horror. 

He’s dreamed that he was the one driving Kavinsky’s car that one time. 

That he turned the car as purposefully as Kavinsky did, steered them into oncoming traffic. 

That he didn’t get salvaged from the wreckage. 

This could all have just been another dream. Another version of his stupid, stupid, stupid guilt playing out in his consciousness, pitting him against himself. 

 

-

 

There’s a lot of yelling. It’s all muddied together around him. He thinks it’s his father shouting. He thinks it’s Declan scolding him for being so careless. His mother sobbing. He can’t open his eyes to check. Can’t open his mouth to respond. Thinks he can hear his father telling him he never tried hard enough. He never had the nerve to commit. He never -

-

He dreams about the fields around his home. About the flowers his mother grew. About the smell of her pies wafting out through the kitchen windows. He dreams he can hear his family around him, talking to him, touching him. He dreams he can hear Adam. Dreams his hand is being held in Adam’s hand and then he’s dreaming that Adam is Jane and she’s crawling onto his chest and sticking her claws in and she’s growing heavier and heavier and heavier until he can’t breathe and she’s crushing his lungs and his ribs are creaking and -

-

He wonders if Kavinsky was right. Or. He doesn’t wonder. It’s a vague passing thought somewhere in the fog of what he thinks must be his mind. He wonders if this is what life is like for his mother. If she is still somewhere deep in her head. He doesn’t know if he’s wondering this right now or if he’s recalling himself wondering this at some other point. 

 

-

 

He tries to pray, but he’s not awake, and it’s hard to direct his thoughts in one place, let alone in one place he’s been avoiding. He tries. He prays; God, God, God, let me go. He prays; I don’t want Matthew to suffer. He prays; I don’t want to suffer anymore. He prays; God, God, God, please. He prays-

 

-

 

He dreams that he can hear Declan talking. On the phone of course. That’s how Declan talks. Careful and clipped. 

“-Not as far as I know,” Declan is saying, “yes of course.----Right.-----Later then.” 

He thinks Declan is holding his hand, can’t quite tell. Dreams have a funny way of making everything feel fuzzy. Of pulling you out of your body. Of - 

Everything fucking hurts. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

He wants to scream, but his throat is blocked. He wants Declan to not be a dream. He wants to wake up. 

“Get the nurse,” Declan is saying, “yes now.”

 

-

 

He thinks his first coherent thought upon opening his eyes is that he’s fucking, fucking thirsty. His mouth feels as dry as the desert’s fucking asshole. His second coherent thought is that he must have voiced this aloud, because there’s a plastic cup being pressed to his cracked lips, there’s a hand cupping the back of his head, there’s sweet fucking merciful water in his mouth, wetting his parched throat. 

“Don’t choke,” Declan says, “slow down, you’re fine.” 

Ronan can’t respond, he’s too busy drinking. Instead, he rolls his eyes up so he can squint at Declan, perched on the side of the bed next to him. His chin is heavy with stubble, eyes drooping with dark bags, but his hand on Ronan is soft. He drinks until the cup is empty, and then Declan refills it, holds it to his mouth again, and Ronan drinks all of that too. 

“Better?” Declan asks, wipes with his hand at the water on Ronan’s chin, “don’t throw it up again.” 

“Mm,” Ronan says, tries to remind his throat how to work, his tongue how to move to make words. “Matthew?” 

“He’s fine,” Declan says, keeps his hand on Ronan’s face, “he’s fine.” 

Ronan doesn’t know how to respond to the relief flooding his bones at this. Just turns his head, presses his face harder into Declan’s hand. Then, he needs to know. 

“K?” he asks. 

He doesn’t need to look at Declan’s face to know what expression he’s wearing. 

“No,” Declan says. Ronan thinks he’s shaking his head. “No.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says. Closes his eyes again. 

 

-

 

“I’m awake,” Ronan says when the whispering gets all too much. It was mostly true. He hadn’t been awake properly long. Had just been lying there vaguely growing more and more aware of the hushed sound of conversation around him. He forces his eyes open, ignores the ache in his head that this brings. 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “oh thank goodness.” 

 

-

He’s out of bed when Adam finally comes to see him. He’d been lucky to get out of the crash alive, so he’s supposed to be grateful for his fucking broken leg, for his shattered shoulder. He isn’t particular grateful that he can’t move places without assistance properly. He had gotten Matthew to help him into the chair earlier in the day. He’d had to go back home in the early afternoon though, and Ronan hadn’t wanted to ask a nurse to help him move back. 

“You look a mess,” Adam says in greeting from the doorway. 

Ronan scoffs, would shrug if he didn’t think it would hurt like fucking hell. “At least they fixed my nose,” he says, “my face’ll be just as pretty, don’t worry.”

“That’s definitely what I was worrying about,” Adam says. He’s still in the doorway. Hasn’t made a move to come in yet. 

“I know,” Ronan says, “I know you’re only with me for my looks.” 

“Ronan,” Adam says. 

“Please come in,” Ronan says, thinks he will actually start crying if Adam doesn’t hurry the fuck up and come in, “please come in.” 

Adam hesitates, then steps in, pulls the door to behind him. Ronan was thankful that Declan had decided this was a good time to use their money and make sure Ronan had a private room. He didn’t think he could bear having to spend this much time with other people who he didn’t know. 

Adam crosses the room quickly, drops down beside Ronan’s chair like he’d lost control of his body. “I’m so fucking sorry,” Adam says, “I shouldn’t have left - I should’ve-” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, surprise making his voice louder than intended, “that’s not - Parrish I was the one who fucking yelled at you.” 

“You were freaking out,” Adam says bitterly, grasps the arm of Ronan’s chair, “for good reason. I overreacted, I -” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan reiterates firmly, “please stop. Don’t.”

“Ro,” Aam says, soft, “I’m so- we thought you were going to die.” 

“I know,” Ronan says, has to clear his throat a few times, reaches down, has to reach across his body with his right arm, wants to tug Adam up and onto him. “Declan told me. And Gansey told me. And Matthew. And Noah. Also Blue. And a few doctors.” 

Adam follows Ronan’s tugs, stands up again, lets Ronan pull him closer. Doesn’t get into his lap like Ronan wants, although this is probably a good idea because Ronan’s lap isn’t very functional. 

“I should have come earlier,” Adam says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

“You were,” Ronan says, “I just wasn’t awake.” 

“Well yeah,” Adam says, sniffs, shrugs, “I was - I know this is stupid. I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me.” 

“That is stupid,” Ronan agrees, “I wanted to see you so badly.” 

“Me too.” 

“Dumbass,” Ronan says, considers, then, “help me back to my bed? I want - I want to hold you.” 

“Ok,” Adam says, bends at his knees and scoops Ronan into his arms before Ronan can clarify that he meant he needed help walking. Not that he’s complaining. He had been asleep the last time Adam had carried him, and it was definitely something worth being awake for. Next time he would prefer to do it without the fucking pain though. 

Adam lays him out on the bed, then helps him adjust the bed and the pillows so he can be lying half propped up. He steps out of his shoes, climbs up onto the bed next to Ronan, lets Ronan pull him close against his side. He wraps his arm carefully around Ronan’s waist, lays his head careful on Ronan’s shoulder - his right side obviously. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Ronan says eventually, after their bodies have relaxed against each other, “I know how much you don’t like Henrietta.” 

“Of course I’d be here,” Adam mumbles, “I fucking love you more than I hate Henrietta.” 

Ronan’s heart somersaults. “I love you,” he says, “fuck I love you so fucking much,” 

Adam snorts into his shoulder, presses up to kiss Ronan’s jaw, “This has been the longest week of my life,” he says, “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you.” 

“Well,” Ronan says, “I was asleep for half of it, so like, not too bad.” 

“Idiot,” Adam says, kisses him again. Ronan tips his head down so they can kiss properly. Can only keep it up for a few seconds before he needs to drop his head back on the pillows. “I’ll stay here as long as you want,” Adam says, “we don’t need to go overboard with the kissing right now, don’t worry.”

“What about your classes?” Ronan mumbles, closes his eyes. 

“Took leave,” Adam says calmly, “I have a family emergency. Same with work. I’m here until you send me away, and I- hope that you won’t.” 

“Not until you start getting annoying,” Ronan says, opens his eyes, “I want you here always,” he adds, much more sincere, “always.” 

“Ok then,” Adam says. Very simple. “I’ll stay.” 

They’re like that for a while. Just lying in each other’s arms, Ronan pressing as hard as he can bear against Adam, Adam’s arms careful on Ronan. Then Adam sighs. 

“So,” he says, “on a completely unrelated note?” 

“Mm?” Ronan says. 

“I asked about my mother,” Adam says, “seeing as this is the hospital she said she was being treated at.” 

“Ah,” Ronan says, tips his head to the side, “and?” 

“She did come in,” Adam says, “once. Minor fracture. It needed no further treatment. My first payment covered the costs of it.” 

“Oh,” Ronan says, considers it for a moment, “how do you feel?” 

“Like I’m not sure whether or not to be mad,” Adam says, “she was telling the truth at first. So. I don’t know.” 

“Will you see her while you’re in town?” 

“No,” Adam says, shakes his head, “no. I don’t think I can. I think we made our separate positions perfectly clear in our last phone call.” 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “hey-” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m really fucking proud of you.” 

“Fuck off.” 

 

-

(Two months later)  
Friday  
11:58 (am)  
-Leaving therapy now. I’ll be at Seph’s in like 20.

12:01 (pm)  
~Ok babe. I’ll place our lunch order now then x  
~Are you bringing the painting? 

12:09  
-Don’t forget I want fries.   
-Yeah I am. It’s in the backseat, don’t let me forget. 

-

4:09  
-Gonna be home late  
-We’relooking at that flat when Adam gets off work

4:11  
_Late like you don’t want dinner late or late like?  
_Also send me photos of the flat. 

4:12  
-We’ll probably eat out. Gotta check out the food round the place too yknow

4:13  
_Right yes, silly me. Ok. Keep me updated. 

4:15  
-Obviously. 

-

5:36  
~Hey, bring me a coffee when you pick me up? 

5:37  
-God you’re so needy  
-I’m getting muffins too. Choc or blueberry? 

5:38  
~blueberry.  
~also are you wearing respectable clothes? We don’t want the realtor to turn us away because you’re wearing your cat shirt again. 

5:40  
-Jane loves that shirt. I don’t see why it wouldn’t help us get a good place. 

5:41  
~Ro. 

5:42  
-God whatever I’m wearing that red shirt you bought me. Happy? 

5:42  
~Fuck yeah I’m happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There is a slight possibility that this will get an extra chapter of plain and pure fluff, but it is slight. )

**Author's Note:**

> plz feel free to yell at me about random things here - etoilearden.tumblr.com xxx
> 
> Hi guys! If you like my writing, please consider donating a couple of $$'s to my ko-fi!   
> ko-fi.com/ardenetoile


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